


A New Word For Over

by Emilys_List



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Love, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reuniting, Mark and Eduardo break up and marry other people. But that's only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Word For Over

“We're so over we need a new word for over.” - Carrie, Sex and the City

How Eduardo Meets Arthur

Eduardo stares at the closed front door from out on the porch. He can't believe it's come to this, but it has, and he's too tired to fight anymore, and that's that; so he climbs into the car that's waiting to take him to SFO. He has only one suitcase, a hastily packed small carry on with wheels. He's not big on prescription medicine, at least not in the past couple of years, but he takes Xanax now to assuage the anxiety in his gut.

He buys a ticket at the airport and gets myriad looks from the agent until he barks about a health emergency, parents, whatever, and he's sent off with a first class ticket to JFK departing in one hour. He goes through the motions of air travel, removing his shoes and phone, and takes off his watch, a gift from Mark, putting it all into a grey bin lined with an ad for Zappos. In socked feet, he waits to be waved through and dismissed, and he is. He sits on a bench to lace his shoes and then he's up and rolling.

He settles in by the gate for a conversation with Chris that goes better than he thought it would. 'Of course you can stay, sweetheart.' He hears muffled talk on the other end, and he guesses that Chris is telling his fiancé. 'Sean is thrilled. He can't wait to see you. Can we send a car to the airport?'

Eduardo declines. He got this image of taking the subway. It sounds so good and normal and inconvenient and uncomfortable, and right now he'd like to feel these things. He turns his phone off.

The mix of Xanax and alcohol during the flight knocks him out clear through the Midwest; he wakes up around Pennsylvania, dazed and disoriented, and for the briefest of seconds he thinks he's at home in Palo Alto. But he's not. And won't be ever again. That makes him shudder for a moment and he summons a flight attendant for more water so he doesn't have to take his drugs dry.

He didn't anticipate the humidity in New York, and suddenly the idea of the train holds romance no more. He waits at the taxi stand sweating through his dress shirt and when he's finally speeding towards the West Village, he keeps his window open and his head out.

Chris hugs him tightly, enough to cause internal bruising, and holds him away, appraising and taking stock. "He told me he was going to chase you here or that I should put you on the next plane home."

Eduardo dives back into the embrace where it's safe. "He can fuck off. Forever this time."

Chris doesn't say anything and rubs his back, which makes Eduardo start weeping, and he cries in his arms until Sean happens along and they trade. "Honey, it's okay. You know? It's okay or better or - Chris, Jesus, what should I stay? Stop making faces at me." Sean pulls Eduardo to the couch and makes him lay down. He takes off Eduardo's shoes.

"You guys are going to be exceptional parents," Eduardo opines and Sean smiles in reply.

"We just love you. And Mark is a colossal asshole."

"Babe," says Chris.

"What?"

"It's not that simple. And Mark is my friend, too."

Eduardo holds his hands up. "Look, feel free to be as neutral as Switzerland, okay? I just came here to get away, and drink too much, and fuck as many people as possible." Sean and Chris share some couple eye language over that but let it be.

Eduardo is as good as his word, drinking like how he used to in Singapore, or college, and fucking his way through the city's gay scene. His first night out he thought he'd try to meet a woman and see how that went, it had been years, but in the club bathroom with her legs wrapped around him, her back glued to the wall as he fucks into her - it's hot, but not as hot as he remembers, and he's thinking of someone else when he comes.

From then on it's just men and boys that he meets at The Ritz and Retreat and Eastern Block and The Cock and Boiler Room. And on Grindr. Thank god for Grindr.

The thing about New York is this. In Singapore he was able to be a reclusive billionaire who also went out a little, and no one paid him too much attention. Then he was a stay at home, nesting kind of guy in Palo Alto. But here in New York, going out to gay bars every night and going home with men manages to make some waves, especially with that fucking movie out that suddenly makes everyone recognize his name. It's invasive and unnerving, but the worst part is that Mark starts texting him. He ignores them, but there's one that sticks with him:

_You're wasting my money to go out and spray cristal on every twink in manhattan. Cut it the fuck out_

"Mark Zuckerberg's office."

"Hi Paul."

"...Eduardo? Wow. Hey. Let me put you right through, he's in a meeting but I know he's dying to-"

"Paul, I don't want to speak with Mark. Can you give him a message?"

"I - yeah, I don't know, I know he really-"

"Paul, I'm going to make this simple for you, okay? I'm going to give you the message and hang up and you can tell him I didn't even give you the chance to get a word in. He'll only be mad at me. Don't worry. Here it is: It's my fucking money that I'll do what I want with, that I earned by way of investment and you have no claims to it or me. Do not text me again. You know how litigious I can be.

"Thanks Paul. Hey, how's Steven? And the puppy?"

Eduardo hears this puff of breath on the other end, like a sigh but sadder. "Both fine. Thanks for asking. Are you... okay? I won't tell him."

Eduardo considers this carefully. "No, I'm not. Bye Paul."

He finds an apartment in the new Frank Gehry building, gorgeous and modern with stunning views. He's not sure he wants to stay in New York so he rents, and he tells Chris and Sean about it over drinks at Therapy.

Chris shakes his head over the price tag. "That's what gets people guillotined."

Eduardo shrugs. "Says the millionaire to the billionaire." Then, "I'm kidding." Then, "I'm really drunk, I'm sorry."

Sean shouts over the music that was just cranked up. "Honey, how much more can your liver take? When are we drying you out somewhere?"

Eduardo waves them off and goes to the bar for a refill. He waits, tapping his fingers against the bar, and gets the feeling that he's being stared at. He turns his head slightly and does his best to look out of the corner of his eyes. He sees a tall, gangly guy trying not to look at him. Eduardo is paying for his cocktail when the guy slides over.

“Hey! What’s your name?”

With now full license to look this guy over, he does, seeing that he is actually kind of gorgeous in the face. “Eduardo," he answers.

“Hi Eduardo," he says, smiling. "You have a pretty mouth.”

Eduardo chuckles. "Okay." He heads back to Chris and Sean because he knows how this works.

Sean has an event in the morning, so they beg off soon after and Eduardo goes outside to smoke, catching the forward stranger's eye as he does.

Like clockwork, he's joined outside in just seconds.

“That’s a terrible habit,” the man admonishes, pulling out his own pack.

Eduardo says nothing in return, doesn't crack a smile.

“I’m Arthur," he says once he's lit and puts the cigarette is in his mouth.

“Your name is Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“My grandfather’s name was Arturo.”

“He had a great name.”

Eduardo takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to his left side and away. “I say this to say that it’s an old fashioned name. Your parents must not like you very much.”

“They like me just fine.” And then it’s quiet, and no one says anything. “So. Boring get to know you questions. What do you do, Eduardo?” Arthur asks in a hokey voice.

_I’m a billionaire._ “I’m an investor. Tech projects mostly.”

Arthur whistles. “An investor. Hmm. Where do you work?”

“I work for myself.”

“Are you a successful investor?”

_I have so much money that it doesn’t really matter._ “Sure. What do you do, Arthur?”

“I’m a professor. Information science.”

Eduardo perks up. “What’s your specialty?”

“I like visualizations. Data. Patterns. Comprehension.”

“That’s very nerdy,” Eduardo says, but he has to mask his awe as he says it.

“Subjective. What do you like?”

“I like weather. Prediction. I guess I like patterns too.”

“And that’s not nerdy?”

Eduardo drops his cigarette to the ground. It rolls a half inch and he stomps out the dying embers. “So am I coming home with you, or?”

Arthur extinguishes his cigarette too, his face neutral. He leans in and kisses Eduardo, almost chastely, then pulls back a fraction and smiles. Eduardo grabs the back of Arthur’s head and draws him towards him, kissing him, forcing his tongue into his mouth, tasting cigarettes on both of them.

Eduardo pays for a cab to Williamsburg over Arthur's express wishes, and they walk the three flights to Arthur's apartment, sparsely furnished and shared with two other people. His bedroom fits a futon and a clothes rack and that's about it, and Eduardo takes an awkward seat on the futon.

"Do you smoke pot?" Arthur asks, and Eduardo shrugs. With the exception of alcohol, he's more of an upper than a downer person, and besides marijuana is a California drug, a Palo Alto drug, which makes it wholly uninteresting. "Do you mind if I..." And he doesn't, so he makes the 'go ahead' motion. Arthur plucks a joint from a small box, perhaps Indian in origin - he looks like the kind of guy who backpacked across the subcontinent. He lights it and inhales, sitting down next to Eduardo. "So no pot. Are you into, like, MDNA?"

Eduardo thinks he might get a contact high. "I like cocaine. Sometimes, like for special occasion." Like having a threesome with a couple in their forties. Or a Thursday night. "I'm not against pot. It's just not really my thing."

Arthur waves that away, taking another hit. "No, no, I totally get it. Totally. I was just - it was a getting to know you... question." Arthur puts on music, some quiet, jazzy, hipster-y sounding music, and smokes his joint out. When he's done he smiles at Eduardo, big but lazy, and approaches him slow. Arthur kisses him then, soft and wet, and he wipes his mouth. "Sorry," he says, leaning back in for more.

Kissing is so intimate, Eduardo thinks. You can do so many things alone that you'd do with another person, or many people, but you can't kiss yourself. Arthur's lips against his feel - immaculate in their perfection. He wants to stop him just so he can have the feeling of starting again. He's lost in this kiss, completely lost, but fortunately or unfortunately his heart and body have an alert system for this type of thing.

“I just got out of a long, complicated, sometimes horrible relationship," he warns.

Arthur fixes his eyes on him tight. “So you’re telling me that after I fuck you you’re gonna get the hell out of dodge and not see me again.”

Eduardo almost hedges at 'after I fuck you' - how presumptuous - but he can't deny that he finds straightforwardness a turn-on. “Well. Yeah.”

“Sure. But let’s see how this goes first, huh?” Arthur goes back to kissing him, and Eduardo goes back to losing his mind over it.

They don't end up fucking, but Eduardo gives Arthur his best work and it definitely is appreciated, if the several rounds of orgasms are any indication. Arthur likes dirty words and being rough, and Eduardo is only happy to hear it and take it. They take a shower to clean up and jerk each other off frantically, mouths mashed together in a long kiss, until Arthur's roommate bangs on the door. They finish.

Arthur's body is thin. He has a thin frame and gangly arms but his legs are muscled because he runs in McCarren Park, Eduardo learns when he's tracing his tongue over his calves. His hair post-sex hangs in his eyes and Eduardo brushes it away.

At 4am they talk about weather and numbers in bed until they doze off. Arthur takes the L to work mid-morning, and since Eduardo has nowhere to be he accompanies him for the commute. The car is almost deserted and they sit next to each other, knees knocking. Eduardo follows Arthur to his building and says goodbye, but before he can go anywhere Arthur grabs Eduardo's phone and programs his number in, then kisses him. "So what do you think?"

"About what?" Eduardo looks up into the grey sky. It doesn't look like rain but you never know.

Arthur slips the phone into Eduardo's pocket. "Seeing me again."

He kisses Arthur, but there's parting in that kiss, and he says, "Bye, Arthur. Nice meeting you."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Moron."

Eduardo returns to his new apartment: empty, steel appliances, white walls, no character, no anything. He texts Arthur within the hour.

This is how they start - slow at first, but soon it's like a rush, a flooded dam, and Eduardo's in love. He doesn't talk about past relationships - namely, one in particular. When it's unavoidable, he tells Arthur the bullet point version of the story, and Arthur goes blank. And then shrugs. 

"What, you don't think I know how to use Google? I went online immediately and looked you up, crazy. I know a lot already, and you don't need to feel like you have to tell me anything else."

And that was it. No questions, although not because he didn't care. When pressed he says, "It's your life, and I'm the star of the new chapter." Eduardo rolls his eyes. "Okay, maybe not the star. But I'm at least, like, I mean, I love you very much. Doesn't that count for something?"

It counts for a lot. He loves Eduardo unabashedly and unconditionally - no strings, no messy wounds. He loves him like an adult. He doesn't need to possess him. He genuinely wants him to be happy. It's very strange; it takes some getting used to.

They have a long, uncomfortable conversation about money which turns into a neverending series of conversations on the subject. When the Occupy Wall Street movement begins, Arthur goes down to Zuccotti Park and takes photos to show his class, and when he tells Eduardo about getting involved, Eduardo stares blankly at him. "You realize that's essentially a protest of me, right? My money, my business."

Arthur shrugs, kind of smiling. "It's not wholly about you. This has to do with lots of systemic issues. But yes, you're a part of the problem."

Eduardo sets his jaw. "This problem helps support your lifestyle."

Arthur shakes his head and waves it away. "Which makes me uncomfortable, when you buy me stuff and pay for cabs, because I don’t need any of that - look. You could afford to pay millions more in taxes. You could live off of the interest of the money you have. That's just fact. You could give away most of your money and still be very comfortable."

Eduardo hopes he's doing a decent job of hiding the disgust on his face. "But why do that? Why would I do that? It's my money."

Arthur smiles sweetly. "You can't take it with you."

Eduardo takes a moment to be quiet and stares out the giant windows of his apartment, stewing over a boyfriend with whom he has such ideological differences. If he tried, he wouldn’t be able to understand what makes Arthur the way he is. He sighs, and his shoulders sag. "What am I doing with you?"

Arthur snorts. "What am I doing with you?" He asks back. 

A long, painfully quiet moment lapses between them. 

"Eduardo, we need to head out," Arthur says, tired.

They jump into a cab - Eduardo insists because they're running late - and head to Williamsburg to meet Arthur's friends at a gay bar, and their disagreement hangs over the entire evening like a little grey storm cloud. But Eduardo does his best to be charming amidst his annoyance at Arthur's prying, and he makes nice with Arthur’s skinny, queer, hipster, anti-authoritarian friends.

When they get home to Eduardo's apartment, Arthur plugs in to answer emails from students and Eduardo researches The Giving Pledge. He’d heard about it; Mark and Dustin had already signed up. He’d made a mental note to look into it and never prioritized it, but he’s doing it now and tells himself it isn’t to avoid a fight with his boyfriend, and it isn’t because Arthur struck the right chord when he’d said, ‘You can’t take it with you.’ He texts Dustin to ask what the next steps are in the process to sign up and doesn't tell Arthur about it.

When the announcement goes out, Arthur emails the link to Eduardo with "!!!!!" as the only subject line. His next email says: This is a good start. More to do! In solidarity, your boyfriend.

His mother wants to meet Arthur and makes the point of friending him on Facebook, writing on his Timeline, then sending him a message asking him to come for Thanksgiving, Eduardo involved in exactly none of these steps. Arthur laughs at Eduardo's horror and gleefully accepts before Eduardo has a say one way or the other.

When they arrive in Miami and he hugs his mother, he whispers to her in Portuguese, "I still can't believe you did this," and she replies, also in Portuguese, "I needed insurance that you'd come. You don't always." She smiles widely at Arthur. "Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mariana."

Arthur gives Eduardo a look, wanting to be steadied, and then he looks back to Mariana. "You are so beautiful. Eduardo gets his good looks from you."

Eduardo tucks his chin into his chest and shakes his head. He can sense his mother's flattery level increase exponentially.

The rest of the day goes much like this, this Mariana-Arthur love fest, until his father gets home after dinner and the mood changes almost immediately.

Vitor embraces Eduardo, stiffly as usual, and firmly, hard, almost painfully so. But Eduardo takes the gesture for what it is from a man who'd rather stare at you angrily for years then tell you how he feels. In other words: he's working on it. He pats Eduardo on the back with two slaps and steps back. Mariana kisses his cheek and introduces Eduardo's friend Arthur, which makes Eduardo roll his eyes automatically. Everyone in the room knows that friend is a pale word for their actual relationship, but his old-fashioned mother draws the line there and he is apparently going to let her. Pick your battles, he thinks.

At dinner Vitor questions Arthur about his profession. "Being a teacher. That can't make much money, can it."

"Uh, I'm a professor?" Arthur corrects. He takes a big sip of wine quickly and then continues, "And it's a great job. Graduate students are smart, driven and focused - for the most part. My schedule is flexible. I have no complaints. Plus, my research is interesting. Data visualization is an emerging industry - more data and information calls for ways to process it all. I have a friend who's head information designer for the Wall Street Journal - and I've bored you all." Arthur laughs to himself, self-deprecating, and scrapes the last of the picadinho from his plate with his eye on his fork. Eduardo bites his lip and twists his ring back and forth.

As he takes a bite, Vitor says, "The Journal's graphs leave something to be desired. Is that your friend's doing?" He asks gruffly.

Arthur looks up. "Uh, nope. He just started. He's planning on being a little revolutionary."

Vitor nods once curtly. "Good." Eduardo beams at Arthur.

As they get ready for bed in Eduardo's room, Arthur finally lets it fly. "I cannot get over this largesse. It is astounding. I - I grew up in a ranch house in suburban Wisconsin. You know? I - it's completely beyond me. I knew about it, I'd seen the photos, and I mean, I've met you in all your fanciness, but, Jesus, fuck."

Eduardo remembers another trip here, with another man, that went just about the same. He leans against the doorframe, still brushing his teeth.

"You have a suite! Your room has - it's like this is - this is larger than my whole apartment in college. What the ever living fuck!" Arthur tosses himself on the bed. "There. I'm done." And that's what it is. The last time he came home with someone was a tornado, kind of interesting in theory but scary up close. That last time, Mark didn't know when to quit, when to shut up. Mark has no regard for lines, never mind concern for crossing one.

But as always, Eduardo has to remind himself: Fuck Mark.

He finishes brushing his teeth and climbs into bed. "I guess money's never been a question or a, a thought. My parents had it, I knew I'd make it, and now I have it." He shrugs. "I know it's privileged, I know it's, like, opposite of you but. I'm not just this. My parents might be, my father might be, but I'm. More than this."

Arthur strokes his cheek tenderly. "I know, baby."

Eduardo snuggles in, finding a space for his face between Arthur's neck and shoulder. "You made a good impression on my father. Before he said good night he grabbed my arm and said he liked you. And he doesn't like anybody." Eduardo neglects to mention that Vitor's full statement on the matter was: I like him. He's much better than that other one.

"Good," Arthur replies, drawing lazy loops with his finger on Eduardo's arm. Then he says, "Actually, you know, fuck that. To be liked by your father - who is a total asshole - is not a good mark on my character. I'd rather he didn't like me. I reject his liking of me."

It doesn't sit well to hear him say that, but in another way, in another part of him that's older and wiser, it sits very very well. "You just say what you want. You say what you think."

"I try. Because dishonesty is a waste of time."

They go to bed, there's no fumble of clothes and limbs, and somehow, and for the first time, falling asleep entwined with someone is more intimate than fucking.

His advisors start talking to him about capital gains taxes and he realizes what a disgrace it is for an Econ major to be so out of touch with his own finances. When his team talks to him, they just say: we're doing this. And one investment had already been made. He supposes that when billions are at play the smaller items do not matter.

The biggest takeaway is that he needs to begin giving more money away, and fast, and recommendations are made. He listens politely, says thank you, and leaves to call Arthur. He suggests the Point Foundation and Eduardo agrees; not because Eduardo was ever close to getting kicked out, but it had been razor thin there for a moment. In the same vein Arthur recommends need-based scholarships for Harvard students interested in meteorology. Technology grants to community based organizations in urban areas to encourage the next Big Idea. And on and on until he's allocated about $10 million. As a joke, Eduardo calls his foundation The Eduardo Saverin Foundation, something that was once a part of a horrible evening but no longer holds that sting because he's no longer that boy. Arthur agrees to help administer funds and read proposals, and with his lead financial advisor and his lawyer, The Eduardo Saverin Foundation has its board of four.

Eduardo doesn't mean to propose. He doesn't want to define such a precious thing, but he has a dream that they get married on a subway car between stops, and he attends a truly beautiful same-sex wedding, and subsequently he finds himself swept away with wedding fever. He can't get the idea out of his head, it's tormenting him, and it only lets up after he leaves Tiffany's with a ring in hand.

He strategizes. He plans. He asks Chris and Sean for help. Without a good idea he carries the ring around for inspiration, hoping it will strike, but it never does.

They're in a diner at 3 AM after a night of much drinking and dancing, sharing disco fries, when "Wedding Bell Blues" plays on the radio over the speakers. Still a little drunk, he decides this is it. He swallows his mouthful of cheese, fries, and gravy before popping down on one knee before Arthur. He fumbles for the ring in his pocket. "Marry me. Please?"

Arthur looks surprised, horrified, and pleased all at once. Eduardo starts to sweat when no answer comes, he starts to rear off his knee, when Arthur takes Eduardo's face in his hands. He cradles it, smiling at him fondly. "I don't really believe in marriage. It's so bourgeois and Old Testament."

"But I'm a Jew," is what comes out of Eduardo's mouth even before his disappointment.  
Arthur tilts his head. "I have no problem with the Old Test - actually, hang on, I do. But this is beside the point." He stands and pulls Eduardo with him. "If we do this, I don't want - any bullshit. No rules, nothing prescribed. Just keep going as we're going, okay?"

Eduardo nods.

"Okay. Then. Yes." Arthur smiles and takes Eduardo's hand, the one without the ring box, and then leans into kiss him.

Eduardo smiles, feeling great but not amazing. Not elated. But great - great is great. Maybe pop culture has built up this moment too much? "Don't you want to see the ring?" He murmurs against Arthur's lips.

"Don't care," he says, slipping Eduardo his tongue.

It's Chelsea. The mostly gay patronage applauds, and Eduardo buys everyone lemon meringue pie.

Later Eduardo comes inside of Arthur with a groan and a low shout, and collapses with a grunt. His very flexible fiancé unwraps his legs from around Eduardo's waist and pets at his hair. "Okay, baby. Because it's a special night I'll let you flatten me for a little while."

Eduardo laughs stupidly.

"Speaking of - I - I wondered if this might happen. Someday. And when I thought about it, I. Look. We need an iron-clad prenup. Something where - I don't want any of your money. If we split. Zero."

Eduardo moves off of him in a hurry. He slumps to his side of the bed, on his back, one arm stretched over his head.

"I just don't want - I don't need your money and I don't want it to ever, ever play a role in our relationship. Plus you're highly litigious."

Eduardo feels himself pouting. "That's my joke."

Arthur turns to his side to face Eduardo. "I want us to have the fairest shake possible. This is how. No bullshit rules. About anything. Especially this. And I don't want a lawyer or anything, and besides I can't afford it. I trust Malcolm to lower the liabilities. And that'll be that."

Eduardo wants to fight him, wants to say that love is the only thing that matters, and that they're stronger than anything, but it's not true. There are much more destructive forces out in the universe, and you need a thick shell - or a prenuptial agreement - if you're to survive. Eduardo agrees, texts his lawyer Malcolm, and they go to bed. Eduardo gets a terrible night's sleep.

They get married at City Hall, the day before the formal wedding at The American Museum of Natural History. (Under a giant whale was the only way to convince Arthur to get married somewhere that wasn't Prospect Park or wherever hippies get married.) As they wait for their license, Eduardo sees that Arthur tweeted while sitting next to him: _Looking forward to my legal right to be as miserable as one man-one woman._ Eduardo nudges him with his knee and Arthur shrugs. "I'm having fun."

"You wanted to do this, something simple, just us. Why would you tweet about it?"

Arthur rubs at his eyes. "Honey, we made it through six months of not killing each other. Last night I was up 'til 3 writing my vows. Please, please, let me just wake up."

Eduardo's leg shakes, jiggles, and he lets Arthur be with his giant cup of coffee. He checks Facebook idly and sees that Mark will be on The Daily Show tonight.

And before he can think about it anymore they're up next and he's being told they're married by the power invested in the clerk by the state of New York. Arthur kisses him and grins.

Chris and Sean really went overboard for their joint bachelor party, renting out the Rainbow Room and turning it into, well, a gay club that would shock no one if it was called the Rainbow Room. When Eduardo and Arthur walk in hand-in-hand, the DJ plays "Single Ladies" and Arthur threatens to leave immediately. But he's too good, he never would, and as a result he gives a couple of shimmying Beyonce moves before planting a debaucherous kiss on Eduardo. They give Chris and Sean hugs and kisses before Arthur spies friends from Wisconsin and runs off, whooping. Sean smiles. "He's so spirited, your boy." Eduardo accepts the scotch handed to him and takes a grateful and thirsty sip. "He hasn't seen those friends in years."

The night gets increasingly sloppy. Chris is too classy for strippers, but he's not above hosting a raucous night of drinking, and Eduardo overindulge, hugs and kisses and lap sitting for all. Dustin shows up and their love fest is platonic but still epic.

He's so happy. Everything is so great. He's getting married to a smart, funny, beautiful man who loves him. Loves the shit out of him. Cares for him.

Arthur stumbles over, a light sheen of sweat on his skin, and a loopy grin on his face. "Baby, I'm going to go smoke with Liam and Minetti. And then stay over. Okay? They have my stuff. I'll see you under the whale." He kisses him sweetly, then whispers, "Good night, husband," which freaks Eduardo out to hear him so sentimental. Eduardo pinches his nose then swats his ass as he leaves. He watches him go and feels so, so satisfied.

Sean puts him in a car and Eduardo leans his head against the glass, already at the spins and disappointed that outright drunkenness seems to have escaped him.

That doesn't matter, none of that matters, when he gets home and sees Mark slumped against his door, waiting for him.

How Mark Meets Cecilia

He slams the door shut. Fuck Eduardo and his fucking dramatics, packing a bag and screaming about leaving for good, heading to the airport. Mark stews for about an hour, slamming around, and when he's calmed down he calls Eduardo.

No answer.

He texts: _pick up._

No answer.

Then he texts again: _pick up your fucking phone._

Mark's ready to drive to the airport to retrieve his reactionary lunatic of a boyfriend when he receives a call from Chris, a communique offered in a quiet, conciliatory tone. "Eduardo's fine. He's coming to stay with us. Um. I probably shouldn't be telling you this. But I'd want to know where Sean was. Not like we behave like you two, god, can you imagine?"

"Okay."

Chris sighs. "Right. Sorry."

Mark lets it all process for just a second more before reaching for his keys. "I'm heading to the airport. Hopefully I can catch him before he leaves, or otherwise I'll just hop a flight - or, wait, Chris, if he does get to New York I need you to put him on the next fl-"

"Mark," Chris interrupts, his voice lacking all the kindness of before, now more firm. "I need you to hear this. I don't - Eduardo isn't coming back. To you. I - I get the sense that this was it, that he's tired. You need to let each other go."

Mark grasps his keys in his hand, barely noticing that the grooves of the keys are digging into his skin. "Chris, I swear to god, this is none of your business."

"Mark, he made it my business when he called us, okay, Jesus. I didn't ask - but now that I know I can't unhear what was in his voice. And I think... God I'm so glad we're on the phone on opposite coasts. I think you two are a wreck. If you really love each other you'll let each other go." If Chris says anything else, Mark doesn't know because he hangs up.

He calls Dustin. "Maaaaark!" Dustin answers and he almost smiles. "What brokers this occasion, friend?"

"Wardo's gone."

"Gone?!"

"To New York, to stay with that traitor, Chris."

"Ah. Well. Hey! Come up. Marnie and me are baking pot brownies."

Mark sits in less traffic than he expected on his way to Dustin's house in San Francisco, but by time he arrives his muscles feel stiff. He takes a moment to stretch and to admire Dustin's amazing view before going inside.

Marnie meets him with a big hug, squeezing him tight. "Hello, baby Mark," she coos like always.  
As always, Mark reminds her that Dustin isn't that much older, but she waves him away and steers him to the kitchen where Dustin is sitting on the peninsula cross-legged staring into space.

"Hi honey," Dustin says, and smiles warmly at Mark, beckoning him closer. He practically smashes a whole brownie into Mark's mouth. It is an insanely good brownie. "I was going to do a whole Matrix-Morpheus/blue pill-red pill thing, because we made some non-drugged ones for Marnie's sister, but then Christopher and I had an illuminating conversation, and I didn't want to beat around the brownie." He pats Mark's head. "Get high, dearest."

Marnie hugs Mark from behind. "Dusty, don't Mark and I make a good couple?" Dustin nods solemnly.

"You're kind of married to my best friend. Plus you're not my type," Mark replies.

"Because I don't have a Brazilian cock?" Dustin makes a neck-slicing gesture to Marnie, who replies, "What?"

Mark maneuvers out of her grasp. "Eduardo left. We're broken up. I think." He rummages through the fridge for the water pitcher and impolitely drinks from it. When he's done, he fills it up at the tap, grabs another brownie, and Dustin whistles.

"I think we're in for some shame spiraling," Dustin says quietly.

Mark doesn't spiral. In fact he doesn't do much of anything except work, eat, sleep, jerk off, and troll the Internet for information about Eduardo. There are an unacceptable amount of photos of him stumbling drunk out of a club with a twink following behind, and every photo, blog post, or tweet ( _just danced near fb dad eduardo saverin. Super hot ass, damn_ , and does that make Mark the Facebook mom?) sends him into distinct and unique rages. Also offensive: Eduardo looks really good. Youthful, sexy, not at all what he looked like when he left. It's almost as if being without Mark brought vitality back into Eduardo, but Mark doesn't like treading down that path of thought.

One night he drunkenly decides that texting Eduardo is a really fantastically great idea, and so he sends _I miss you_. No reply. He sends it again, and then more, paragraphs, essays, all in texts: I miss you, I love you, how could you do this to us? What can I do to fix it? What happened? What do you need?

And nothing in reply. Days later and a few beers in, he keeps up his campaign but he's frustrated. He doesn't actually expect Eduardo to reply but he's still and nevertheless frustrated. He texts: _I miss you. I love you._ But there's a bit of an edge this time, and he can't help but text: _are you not responding because your hands are too busy in a circle jerk with anderson cooper and his boyfriend._

After that being mean is easy, almost too easy, and it feels good. And he's not run of the mill mean, he tries to be funny too to ease the harshness, a little medicine with sugar.

"You're fixating," Dustin says over dinner, frowning. "You're - I don't even know. You're also being like ferociously creepy. Can you wrench that back a couple of integers?"

Mark has always wanted to throw a drink in someone's face, and Dustin's face is just there and so deserving, but Marnie's there too and she wouldn't be cool with that and, well, manners.

She lays a cool, smooth hand over his and smiles warmly at him, and he misses Eduardo so much he can barely breathe. "Honey, you've got to knock it off."

He slips his hand away as politely as possible. "He needs to-"

"He met someone," Marnie breaks in. "I saw a photo on, well, you know where. He's tall. And it looks serious."

"What, his height is serious?" Mark snaps, and he immediately regrets it around the time that Dustin's hand flies out like a stop.

"Rein it in, man," Dustin says, his voice devoid of its usual warmth and playfulness. Mark looks into his lap, knowing he crossed Dustin's line by being unkind to Marnie. He apologizes on the spot and goes home later, spending hours on the site learning about Arthur Grant.

The next day Paul comes into his office without saying anything, hovers, and leaves, and Mark follows him out. "Did you...?"

Paul shakes his head. He opens his mouth, and a little croak sounds in his throat before he shakes his head again. He looks to the ground. "It's not my business, but. I think you should let go of him, Mark. If Steven was - if he did what Eduardo did - I'd know I'd have to..." Paul doesn't finish his hypothetical, because he's so horribly in love with his boyfriend that he can't imagine a scenario of not being blissful in every inch of skin, joy leaking from his pores. It makes Mark a little envious sometimes, but only nauseous now, and he releases Paul back to his desk.

Mark goes home at 5. His assistant, his best friend, and his best friend's nice and incredibly sympathetic wife have all told him to get a life, and if things have gotten that bad, it's time for drastic measures - like having a standard workday. He goes home and makes chicken and a vegetable thing, and calls his mother to check in, and goes to bed at 1 AM. And he actually sleeps and doesn't touch himself wishing it was Eduardo before he does.

He goes to the gym every day. He goes on a date with a boring lawyer named Ted. There is no second date.

He is being very regulated and good, and behaving himself, and food is starting to lose flavor and he's spiraling now, finally, but not in a self-destructive way, and more in a way where he's eating right and spending time outside and it's awful.

And then he meets Cecilia.

On this behaving jag, he accompanies Tom his VP of Product to a senior engineer's birthday party, Annie something, and he feels bad that he can't remember. He drinks a beer and talks to Tom about work and the trip Tom and Cara are planning to China when a girl just straight up bumps into him, and he loses balance and falls square on top of her, his beer spilling over both of them. It's like a romantic comedy but hoppier and stickier, and more uncomfortable. He looks down in her face and sees her beautiful features locked in a grimace.

"Fuck, get off me! What the hell?" She yelps and he scrambles off quickly if not gracefully.

"Sorry! Wait. I'm not, you bumped into me."

She gets to her feet with his help and brushes at the unavoidable stain on her sundress. "Ugh." She glares at him. "I know I tripped, but you really suck."

He can't help but incredulously laugh and she joins him. He turns to catch Tom's eye but he's nowhere to be seen. Mark looks back to the woman, who introduces herself as Cecilia Chang. In quick order he learns that she's a teacher getting her masters part-time, she's originally from New Jersey, and she was Annie's college roommate during freshman year. She's also lukewarm about Facebook.

At this point she doesn't yet know his name.

He asks her why and she says that it's a total time suck. "If you have time to go on Facebook you have time to tutor a child," she says.

Mark shakes his head, and doesn't stop. "That's insane logic. Calling it logical at all is generous because it's insane. You could apply that to any situation; we'd never do anything and all children would be well tutored." She cocks her head to the side and asks if that would be so bad. "Yeah. Yes," he says. "What is life but new frontiers? New ways of experiencing and seeing? Connecting?" He gulps. "Meeting a beautiful woman?"

She furrows her brow and then gives him a suspicious smile, looking to the floor. Her eyes dart up and her smile emerges without any caveats, and it's beautiful to Mark. "I have to head home for homework, boring but true," she says, sounding actually regretful and not like she's trying to escape.

"Can I give you my number?" He asks impulsively, and is pleased when she nods. She hands her phone over and he programs his number in; he's the only Mark. Her smile is beatific.

He's pleased when she calls him the next day. "You're THAT Mark?" She screams into the phone. "Can I just say? The guy who played you in the movie was much more attractive than you." He closes his laptop and tries not to flinch. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. You are - fine looking. You just look different and I've never. I'm sorry. I think you're cute. Oh god."

They go on a proper first date and he tells her that he'd been dating someone - careful with his pronouns - but it had ended badly and he's patching himself up now. "But," he says, "I like you. Is that okay - to say?" She nods and takes a sip of her wine.

They split tapas and eat a lot and drink a lot, and over cappuccinos she leans over the table to kiss him on the mouth. When she leans back she looks flushed and embarrassed, and he doesn't want her to feel that way, so he leans across the table and kisses her back. And he enjoys the kiss, even if it wasn't from a familiar mouth, the one he'd been pining after.

At her car, she leans against the side and yanks him by the collar, towards her, and kisses him some more, and with every moment he's more and more in it. He holds her hand as they kiss and she slips him her tongue. They say good night, parting breathless, and he is pleasantly surprised that he can't get her face out of his head all night, or her soft but firm voice, or her laugh that sounds like a spark, a shot.

A few days later they have dinner at his house - take out, and she says, "Oh, you're one of those guys who pretends they can't possibly learn to cook. I can show you" - and he gives her the tour. She looks over every room, looks at the ceiling and at the carpet and sparse furnishings. Before reaching the master bedroom, she turns to him and says, "I have a one bedroom apartment. My bed barely fits in my room." He shrugs. "I say this because you're in your twenties and own a house like this."

Co-owns, technically, but he doesn’t correct her and chooses not to respond, and flips the light switch. "This is my room. Not exciting."

She enters the room, appraises, then looks over her shoulder. "I like it just fine. Plenty of room for your bed." She smiles and turns around fully to face him. "Admit it, this tour was just a reason to get me into your bedroom."

He wishes he was that smooth. He just didn't know what else they should do. Before he can respond she closes the gap between them and puts her hand to his t-shirt. "So now that you have me here..." She says softly, and her eyes stray to his lips. He can't remember the last time he was desired like this, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

"It's been awhile since I've been with a woman," is what he says, although he doesn't mean to say it.

She stays exactly where she is, but her eyes and expression change. Her head cocks to the side. "That's funny, the way you said that sounded like you've spent this 'while' with men."

He swallows, not brave but not a good enough liar to cover his tracks. "Not 'men.' Just the one."

Her eyes go big and she disguises her surprise poorly. "Oh?" She sit on the bed, on its edge, and looks at him, her expression going from neutral to expecting.

He sighs and sits down next to her. “I was in - something complicated for awhile, and it ended about as well as it went overall.” He doesn't look at her as he explains that after being sued by Eduardo, and after Eduardo moved to Singapore, one day he hopped a flight to Singapore, pretty unexpectedly. Not to apologize - more to say, ‘let's start over.’ Let's start something new. They became friends again, corresponding via email, commenting on each other's Facebook statuses - and here he interrupts himself to proselytize, "because this is one purpose of Facebook, Cecilia, the opportunity for old friends to reconnect." And they did, and then Eduardo came to F8 for the first time.

Nobody was more surprised than Mark when they kissed. And then more. He skips the specifics, for Cecilia's benefit, but then he worries that she might imagine something worse so he quickly breezes through their first time, still light on the details but enough that she looks shocked.

Eventually their separation grew unbearable and Eduardo bit the bullet and moved to Palo Alto, and for a while they were in an endless happy moment - endlessly happy until it ended. Maybe there was too much history or maybe they were too different, had grown too much, or maybe the expectations of what they could be could never match reality, but whatever it was, it was to keep them apart. They fought angrily and regularly, bothered the shit out of each other, drove each other insane, made each other miserable. After one too many fights, Eduardo, who knows when to quit, left and moved to New York City. "And that's it," Mark says, finishing.

Cecilia bursts out laughing. "Mark, that's many things but 'that's it' doesn't quite suffice." She is very quiet for a long moment, and doesn't look at him, her eyes elsewhere. "Are you over him? I can't imagine that would be easy to get over."

It's strange to hear empathy from someone who just got a lot of shit dumped on them, and that's a big part of the reason that he says, "I really like you. I think you're amazing."

She turns to him and searches his face with her eyes - his eyebrows, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, his chin. She ends on his eyes and continues studying him until she's done, and she smiles. "Should we have some more wine?"

Cecilia ends up staying over, but nothing further happens that night. She stays in a spare bedroom and he stays awake all night thinking of her being so close down the hall. In the morning she knocks on his door but doesn't wait for a reply, just busts in. "I can't believe you didn't try anything. I was drunk and consenting! Or you could've woken me up by making out with me?"

He's still a little bit asleep. "Why would I do that?" He asks, his voice thick and not yet grounded.

She sits on the edge of the bed gingerly, in contrast to her storming in, and suddenly she seems shy. "Oh, uh, I don't know. Because you could."

"I can do a lot of things, and I don't."

She smiles and lays down next to him, their bodies barely touching. "I find you very surprising," she opines, and they fall back asleep together.

After that it's like a chute. They have great, emotional, passionate sex; they travel to Hawaii and have a truly terrific time; they move in together; Mark proposes on a Sunday afternoon in Golden Gate Park after an outing to the trampoline park.

It's all easy and smooth, which isn't to say their relationship is without fault, but the bumps don't feel as strong and they weather them well together. Being with Cecilia is good for his heart, his body, his brain. Facebook rolls out Timeline at F8 and everyone is abuzz and Mark feels like his decisions are getting better and better.

They get married on a sunny Saturday in a park, and everyone flies in and their dog wears a bow tie. He cries underneath the huppa and feels stupid but justified. Chris kisses his cheeks and pats his right one, saying he did very well.

He deletes Eduardo Saverin from his friends list.

He adds him again hastily, because he can, without requesting his friendship, because he can, and even though he slipped he makes himself promise not to again.

They honeymoon in Fiji and stay in one of those over water bungalows, and it's the best ever, sitting on the beach where Mark burns and Cecilia tans, and fucking constantly, and going diving, and watching people walk on fire. Mark's whole body relaxes, his mind slows, and he's grateful to her for facilitating this, this thing he'd never have done otherwise.

When they get home, she finds out she's over a month pregnant, and she's first and foremost embarrassed should anyone do the math. His response is to start crying, squeeze her tightly, and call his mother - all at once. Then she cries too.

Mark starts losing it a little, in a way he never has because nothing not even Facebook has ever been this precious. He starts buying everything - the best crib, imported from England, and the best stroller, and stimulating toys and green and organic everything. He texts Cecilia in the middle of the day - _what do you think about yellow for the nursery?_ and the like - and she'll reply _GO BACK TO WORK, Christ on a cracker_ or similar. He intuits that they're having a girl and he's smug at their OB appointment when he's right, Cecilia rolling her eyes at his crowing. "Congrats, Mark, nobody fucking cares," she grumbles, her body swollen and tender and uncomfortable and verbose in complaint.

She leaves her job at the end of the school year and takes a leave of absence from her masters program; it’s too much, she tells him, gestating and doing anything else at the same time. Plus, both of her parents worked and she doesn’t want the same to be true for her family.

At night when she falls asleep, instead of staying up to work he holds her, her sleeping form, their little family in one bed.

As the nine months creeps and yet races on, his preparedness and excitement turn into anxiety for the baby’s impending birth. He asks himself if he'll be a good father, and what does that mean anyway? What does that look like? He's married, he has a house, he founded a business, but he doesn't feel grown up enough to have a person dependent on him, relying on him for food and money and shelter and love, to learn right and wrong from, for guidance. She will have questions no doubt that he cannot answer.

On one of his sleepless nights, he sits at the kitchen table on his laptop and, god help him, looks at Eduardo's Timeline. He's engaged to Arthur now, and they are both tall and gorgeous in every fucking photo. Mark spies one of them in Miami at Thanksgiving and he didn't know how hard it could be to see that; his fist clenches in the fabric of his jeans. Eduardo has this whole life now, a brand new life with no traces of Mark, and it's deeply upsetting to think that you can spend years with another person - in friendship, in hate, in love - and then it's gone and you're something to someone else. Deeply, wholly upsetting. He looks through posts from other friends - apparently the wedding is soon, the bachelor party sooner. He's getting married under the giant whale at the American Museum of Natural History and if he could, Mark would call Eduardo a nerd to his face, and the thought makes him laugh.

But then the thought of his face makes him - hot. No, not hot.

No, hot.

Yes. Very hot.

He's looking at Eduardo shirtless on a beach and smiling at the camera, and he starts to surreptitiously unfasten his pants when Cecilia walks in yawning.

He jerks back together, pulling his t-shirt down over his unbuttoned fly.

"Babe, what are you doing up so late?" She wonders sleepily.

He closes his laptop. "Working."

She wraps her arms around his neck, her chin to his shoulder and her belly pressing against his back. She yawns stale breath against his neck. “I got Mrs. Zuckerberg’d today. At your office of all places, and I was totally being patronized because I’m pregnant. ‘Oh, Mrs. Zuckerberg, do you need a chair? Some water? Are you okay?’”

“I’m sure people do this not because they can’t be bothered to do the research - though that’s certainly true for some - but because they are trying to communicate something specific by referring to you in that way.”

“It’s hardly the point. My parents blessed me with an alliterative name and I won’t waste that.” 

She stretches, standing up straight. “Come to bed.”

He doesn’t follow her and stays looking at Facebook for too long, looking at Eduardo and Arthur and this life they’ve created. He can’t jerk off now, he’s too depressed.

The next morning he drops into his Director of Communication's office at 6AM and she's already there, overcaffeinated and a pencil holding her hair in a bun. She looks up. "Hiya," she says, and looks back to her laptop.

He clears his throat. "I've been thinking it would be good to do some press."

She doesn't look up. "Cute joke, honey."

When did his staff get so familiar and insubordinate? He shakes his head. "Elise, get me booked, I want to do it. It's good for us, and I won't want to do anything for a long time after Maya is born." Using her name is so weird since he hasn't really met her yet.

"Are you taking paternity time?" She asks. Now she's looking at him. He nods and she appraises him. "Cool." She turns back to her computer. "I'm all over it. Stewart, Fallon, Anderson Cooper or something. Maddow. Get out, I'm going to get this going."

Mark doesn't like being ushered out, but he loves that a directive he just gave is being addressed immediately and so he leaves wordlessly.

He doesn't fully, 100% mean to go to New York so he can see Eduardo. It's just that he can, and from there he finds the full spectrum of what he can do, from getting into Eduardo’s building, to waiting for him, to withstanding steely silence and angst, to kissing him and taking him to bed.  
He doesn't mean to. It's just that he can.

How it Happens

Mark's eyes pop up when he sees Eduardo, and in Eduardo's drunken state he takes a second to think: _maybe I'm seeing things?_ But he's not, because Mark is scrambling to his feet, wearing sneakers which Eduardo had always hated, and approaching fast. "Hey," Mark says casually, like this is their apartment and he's just been locked out, no big. 

They've been apart for so long, haven't seen or spoken to each other, and Eduardo still has a visceral reaction to Mark - something like passionate and hateful and loving and nurturing and concerned, all at once.

Eduardo, without any pleasantries, asks, “How did you get in? We have tight security.”

“Yeah, well, the doorman - doorwoman, I guess - was a big fan of that fucking movie.” Mark shrugs. “She was easily persuaded.” Eduardo shakes his head and doesn’t reply, only unlocks the door and leaves it open for Mark to follow him or not. Whatever.

He sets his keys in the normal place on the small hall table, and he looks down to see that Arthur had secretly left him a note like he's want to do. _Hi Baby - See you tomorrow under the huppa. I'll be the other guy in the tux. XX_

Eduardo smiles to himself and crumples the note, shoving it into his pocket and advancing into his living room. He can hear Mark behind him but he doesn't turn around as he sheds his suit jacket, slips out of his Berluti loafers. He runs a hand through his hair and finally turns to look at Mark, steeled enough for it now with the reminder to himself that this is his home and he can eject Mark whenever he pleases. Mark is looking out the window, peering out onto the East River, dark and shiny in patches like obsidian, matte like parking lot in others. Eduardo stares at him for a minute, almost a whole one, and knows that the anger he's been carrying around since he left was really just a mask for feelings that can't ever go away, no matter how many lawsuits are leveled, insults hurled, no matter how much pain is inflicted.

Mark turns to look at him and says, very simply, "Why are you getting married?" He asks this question like he doesn't even know Eduardo, like it's simple curiosity.

Eduardo tips his chin up, his back straight. "Because I love him."

"That's a stupid reason to do anything," Mark replies, and god help him, Eduardo smiles.

"Sure, but I do a lot of stupid things for love," Eduardo finally says.

Mark goes back to looking out the window and all these things keep rushing back to Eduardo, the result of sense memory of Mark in his physical space, and he realizes he's missed Mark's smell, and it's so painful to miss him in this way. He feels like shit but doesn't want to feel better, and he pours a drink, offering one to Mark too. He declines and Eduardo takes a long sip, sucking his whiskey down and one ice cube by mistake.

Eduardo is sick of the silence, the drenched umbrella hanging over the room, and he begins to converse with himself. "So. How have you been, Eduardo? Congratulations on getting married. Hey, I got married too, and we have a fucking kid on the way." Eduardo pauses to take another sip. "Any of that sound better than just saying hi?"

Mark stuffs his hands in his pockets and turns to Eduardo, shrugging. "I asked why you were getting married." Mark settles onto the couch like he fucking owns it, like he lives here, and Eduardo clutches his glass, his palm tight against it. He finishes his drink and his boozed delirium returns, and he sighs with relief to feel so present but so numb, like he's wrapped in cotton, like he's on a flight and his ears haven't yet popped. He sits down next to Mark, half turned towards him, one arm on the back of the sofa.

"So what the fuck are you doing here, Mark?" Eduardo asks, and is caught off guard when Mark kisses him out of nowhere, pouncing, his mouth and tongue exactly as he'd remembered. He pushes Mark away more half-heartedly than he'd like, his chest heaving. He's already starting to get hard. "What," Eduardo says. Before he gets a reply he leans in to kiss Mark and does it sweetly, chastely, but before long he's practically in his lap and his tongue is thrusting into Mark's mouth.

"Wait," Eduardo says, stopping them both. He doesn't trust himself so he stands and backs away. "Why are you here?"

At first Mark looks angry to be asked about his motives, but then that slides away and he simply looks hurt. "You're getting married, Wardo."

"And you're already married with a baby on the way. Surely you don't have an arrangement that you can make out with your ex-boyfriend."

Mark shakes his head. "This has nothing to do with her." His eyes drop away. "And you're more than an ex-boyfriend," he says softly.

Eduardo runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. "You're having a child, Mark. The DNA of you and some woman have formed a being. That's not quite like-"

"You left," Mark interrupts.

"And you hurt me first, can I help you remember that?" Eduardo exhales, heavy, and backs away, to the kitchen for a glass of water. "What are we even talking about?" He asks rhetorically, under his breath.

"The same fight we've been having since 2004, " Mark replies and it makes Eduardo laugh joylessly. He chugs his water. He is going to regret all of this in the morning.

"Why did you kiss me?" Eduardo asks from the safety of the kitchen, with a half dozen obstructions between them.

Mark looks at him, almost sadly, and gets up slowly, his head down. He advances on Eduardo, trudging, almost like he doesn't want him, but he keeps walking and ends up right in front of him.  
"I can't not," Mark says and leans in.

Eduardo knows he's doomed. Mark's body is so close, forbidden, Mark's breath adorably unsteady, he's shaking, they're both shaking, he loves Mark, he hates Mark, he wants Mark.  
Mark doesn't kiss him but carefully unknots Eduardo's tie, like so many nights before. He can't tie a tie, but he's really good at taking them off. Mark unbuttons the top button on Eduardo's shirt, then the next and the next. He kisses Eduardo's collarbone and whispers, "I never stopped loving you," and that's when a sob rips out of Eduardo’s throat. He forces Mark's face into his hands and stares, needy and pleading, into his eyes. "Don't do this," Eduardo says, "I can't-"  
Mark kisses him on the lips, like it's some first kiss in a small town on the fourth of July, all sweetness and purity and celebration. Eduardo sighs into the kiss, and keeps crying, and holds on to Mark tight, his fingers tight on Mark's biceps.

But eventually his tears subside and he is no longer sad or melancholy, or guilty, or maybe he's still those things but passion and needing to fuck Mark overrides his body and emotions. They quickly end up on the kitchen floor, Mark's mouth on Eduardo's neck like he likes, like they both like, and Eduardo is doing his best to offer more access. "No hickies," Eduardo says, trying to stave off Mark's usual sucking tendencies.

"So I shouldn't leave marks on your neck the night before you get married?" Mark asks sarcastically, his mouth never far from Eduardo's neck, his tongue licking and seeking, his mouth chasing. It is strange to hear such honest talk in a moment of such deceit, almost jarring, almost enough to get him up from underneath Mark, but Eduardo just lays there when Mark unzips his pants, yanking them down, and he seems pleased to find a lack of underwear. 

Mark's mouth is on his cock instantly, making little moaning noises, and Eduardo's head falls back. He can't watch, it'll make him come too fast; he closes his eyes and rakes his fingers through Mark's hair, combing then clutching when Mark relaxes his throat, taking most of Eduardo in, sucking him tight and hot in one long pull down his cock. Mark must be hollowing his cheeks as he slides his mouth up and down, one hand to Eduardo's balls until it slides to his hole, fingers teasing just outside it. Eduardo's hips come up, and he shouts, "Oh fuck," and he knows this is wrong, he knows what he's doing, but his drunk brain is encouraging him to go with it, whatever feels good. He clutches at Mark's head and fucks his mouth, sliding in slow and good and then faster, and maybe Mark's gagging but it feels so good - and then the pressure is gone because Mark is scrambling up Mark's body, jerking him off and kissing him, and Eduardo thrusts into his hand and deepens their kiss, tongues clashing, and his hips are meeting Mark's, slamming really, with just enough room for Mark's hand and Eduardo's cock inside of his grip, and Eduardo curses in Portuguese, his face buried in Mark's shoulder as he starts to come, his body broken, his voice broken, his broken heart either mended or even more fractured - he can't totally tell - and he climaxes, coming, his hips frantic, still seeking it - pleasure, or just more of this, and then he's released, and his body is jerking, clamped to Mark, and he's coming down, tension flooding from his body, and he's relaxed, completely relaxed, almost weeping and laughing with relief.

And then Mark is staring him in the face, and it's like what they just did is too.

How Mark Takes Eduardo to Bed

Mark scoops the mass of limbs and body below him off the floor and pulls Eduardo's pants up. He doesn't wipe his mouth before kissing him, because he knows Eduardo likes it - although maybe not anymore, because he's wiping his mouth and making a face.

"So, can I see your bedroom?" Mark asks hopefully, hoping Eduardo isn't done. For a moment he looks like he's battling something, maybe himself, and his face is conflicted until it settles on Mark. Maybe he sees something he likes, because he bobs his head, and takes Mark's hand and guides them to the bedroom.

Mark looks around for a split second - it's so Eduardo in there, all gray sheets and dark wood, this clash of modern and traditional - but Mark doesn't really give a shit about it and drops his pants, difficult over his sustained erection. He sheds his t-shirt as Eduardo removes his unbuttoned shirt, his unfastened trousers. And then they're just - naked together on either sides of the bed. Eduardo looks the same, maybe a little thinner, but his face looks like someone bruised his heart and he looks so sad and desperate and tired. And drunk. And what is Mark doing anyway, this is insane, especially with Eduardo in this shape.

But then he reaches for Mark, and maybe if Eduardo is those things - heart bruised, sad, desperate, tired - maybe Mark can help, even if it’s his fault. They end up tangled on the bed and Mark touches Eduardo's cheek, smooth and supple, and kisses him, each time with intention because he's fucked up irreparably, maybe, and wants to feel better, and wants Eduardo to feel better too. "I missed your face," he says and it makes Eduardo chuckle.

"Same," he says back.

They kiss for awhile, naked together, their cocks rubbing against each other, and without meaning to things get hot much faster than Mark wants, and he wants to get fucked and he hasn't come yet at all and if he wastes this experience and comes by rubbing up on Eduardo, so help him god -

He whispers in Eduardo's ear about condoms and lube and he's out of bed like a shot, rummaging in a drawer, and then he's back in bed, lubing up his fingers to get Mark ready.  
"We always kept our shit closer to the bed for easy access," Mark comments, idly, barely realizing he's said it until Eduardo replies, "Arthur and I don't need condoms."

Mark feels a little punched to hear that they don't use condoms, but it's worse to hear that name, Arthur, that stupid name attached to that gangly nerdy fuck, but he shrugs it off because he's in bed with the boy he's been in love with since he met him at some AEPi thing in 2002, who keeps getting better looking and wiser and cooler.

And Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

Eduardo breaches Mark, one slick finger at first, just to open him up, and Mark winces because it's been a while; his wife is a little squeamish of his ass no matter what he does or says. When he relaxes, one finger turns to two, and then Eduardo's hitting his prostate, and two becomes three, and Mark is starting to moan from the finger fucking alone. "Jesus fuck get on with it," Mark gasps and Eduardo gets on top, smiling then biting his neck from earlobe to collarbone. He wipes his hand on Mark's thigh before stroking himself, then pulling the condom onto and up his cock. He strokes himself some more, leaning over Mark, and he reaches out to touch but Eduardo slaps him away. "No, I'm going to fuck you. It's what you want, right, it's why you're here." Eduardo teases him, his cock against his ass, and Mark shakes his head.

"I came because-" And Mark interrupts himself because Eduardo wants to play a game, and Mark is up - literally - for it. Mark chews on his lip and nods.

Eduardo enters him with a blunt thrust and grunts, and Mark hopes he only feels like he screamed, because if he actually did he'd never be able to live that down. It's been awhile, and he's entirely too tight, too tight that a few fingers can't do enough, but anyway, Eduardo doesn't even notice, which is maybe a good thing, and he's asking if he wants it harder and faster, and he's telling him how tight he is, "Fuck, Mark, so tight."

Bravado and being turned on enough carries Mark through the pain and to being what Eduardo wants, begging, pleading for more, for harder, deeper, faster. His legs are dropped open but Eduardo pulls one up so his knee is practically over Eduardo's shoulder, and he's sliding in even deeper and Mark may just die as Eduardo nails his prostate perfectly over and over.

Mark looks up and sees sweat on Eduardo's brow, his face frowning in an unattractive fashion, in deep concentration, but really he's just hot and it doesn't matter what else is happening. Mark leans up a fraction and kisses him, taking him by surprise, but pleasantly so because he laughs just a little, and so does Mark because all this fucking and seriousness is a little bit funny too. And plus he's happy, and he hopes Eduardo is too.

It's not long before Mark is close, turned on in pretty much every molecule, and he's panting nonsense, his arms tight around Eduardo's neck, and it's been a long time since someone made him feel like this, and the last person was also Eduardo, and it feels like home but it also feels new and exciting, like a new leaf or whatever the fuck it is, and he just wants to drown in this feeling, more and more, and "Harder, Wardo, fuck, I'm so close," and Eduardo pounds furiously into him, fast too, and his body seizes, and he's wrecked with tremors throughout his body but emanating from his balls and cock, and he thinks nothing, and he comes, hard, forcefully, almost painfully.

Eduardo hasn't come yet, having come before, and Mark knows from experience that this situation indicates that Eduardo will take six years to come. He looks at Eduardo as he continues to fuck into him, and he follows his eyes with his own, and Mark tightens his muscles as best as he can, and grips at him with arms and legs, and whispers into his ear, "You made me come so hard, so fast, nobody else can do that, only you, only you. Fuck, you feel so good." And maybe it works, and maybe it's the excitement of what this is, something missed and forbidden, but Eduardo comes then, raw sounds leaking from his mouth, his body jerking and crazy, and pumping into Mark with erratic thrusts, and then "Oh, god, I love you."

How Eduardo Wakes Up the Morning After

Eduardo wakes to a strange grey sky with its muted light filtering in, his mouth dry and his head pounding. He feels tired and drawn, and he lays on his back for a few nauseating minutes until he sprints to the en suite to puke up every single thing in his body. He closes the lid when he's done, wipes his mouth, and lays his cheek on the cold surface.

He hears scrambling, a knock at the door, and then Mark's leaning over him with a glass of water. Mark. That's right. Oh, fuck. "Jesus Christ, that sounded like a horror movie," Mark says, and Eduardo wrenches the lid open again to heave. And Mark does this weird thing; he pats Eduardo's back. It's half-hearted but it's half-genuine, and it's so unlike him to be so comforting. And then it hits Eduardo, and once again he throws up.

"You get a lot of practice with Cecilia?" Cecilia. That's her name, Cecilia, even though Mark never used it. Eduardo knows it because he just would as a Facebook stockholder, but he knows it because he's spent countless hours looking at Mark's Facebook Timeline, his photos, Cecilia's photos - it is not okay. He knows it's not okay and he knows Mark can track his actions but he cannot help himself.

Mark wrinkles his nose. "We don't need to talk about her."

Eduardo rests his back against the wall, flushing the toilet. "Whatever. Can you do me a favor?"

"Forget your name?" Mark asks sharply, mad suddenly, and Eduardo shakes his head.

"No. Can you wet a washcloth for me? They're in the cabinet over there. Fuck, I haven't been this hungover since - I don't - do you remember that AEPi party with the jello shots? I guess it would've been your sophomore year."

Mark puts the washcloth under the tap. "Oh, yeah. Was your vomit green?"

Eduardo grimaces. "This is worse."

Mark sits next to him against the wall, close but not too close. "Do you need anything?"

Eduardo closes his eyes and applies the compress to his eyes. "Why did you get so pissed when I mentioned Cecilia?"

"Oh. Well. I thought you were - I thought you were - regretful. And mad. Or something."

"No, just dying." He drinks some water, just a little. "Do you really remember that night with the jello shots? Or do you just remember seeing the photos Dustin took?" He feels Mark lay a cool hand on his alcohol-warmed skin. It feels good.

"It looked like ectoplasm, how could I forget it?" Mark replies. But then his voice sounds different when he continues, "You were really sick, Wardo," and he sounds like he was scared then and scared now. Mark keeps rubbing his arm and Eduardo lets him.

It's weird.

It's weird to be affectionate with someone who's broken your heart a million times, who you cut out of your life, who you just had fantastic sex with, who is not the man you're about to marry. Eduardo stands on shaky legs and goes back into the bedroom, searching for his phone. He sees many texts and missed calls from Arthur, and he dials immediately.

"Hi stranger," Arthur says when he picks up. "I've been calling ya. We're still on for this whole marriage thing, right?"

Eduardo won't miss a beat. "Absolutely, baby. See you soon?"

"Under the big blue whale. Love you."

"Love you too," Eduardo says, and he tells himself it's feeling sick that's put tears in his eyes. He hangs up and stares out the window.

"Uh, I found some, like, coconut water in your fridge? I suggest you drink all of it," Mark says from behind him, and Eduardo turns. "It'll help, or at least it should." Mark holds out the container and Eduardo chugs it gratefully. He's no stranger to the beverage.

When he's done, Mark is looking at him softly, almost doe-eyed, and Eduardo doesn't know what to say. Too complicated. He finishes the water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and the air is tense and taut between them. Mark stands in front of him, not moving.

"So," Mark says.

"So," Eduardo parrots. He can't remember everything in detail, but he recalls saying, 'I love you' last night, drunk on whiskey and high on Mark as he pressed inside of him. For Eduardo, sex can be just sex, but with Mark nothing is just one thing, ever; nothing's ever simple.

"So I guess you should go get married now," Mark says softly, the words seemingly pulled painfully one by one from his lips.

Eduardo heaves a big sigh. He feels sick and weary, and there's such a large part of him that wants to wind the clock back and never leave Palo Alto and Mark.

But he did it. He'd made big jumps because he'd had to, because he felt like he'd die inside if he didn't get away. He can't remember that now, that inescapable feeling of doom, and he can only look at Mark now, looking like everything he's wanted for over a decade.

One of their phones ring and Eduardo is startled. The spell breaks and he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he re-enters the bedroom Mark is gone.

How Arthur Hears the Bad News

They have one night in the Four Seasons before heading to Bali. Arthur couldn't understand the last minute change, but Eduardo just rushed the point along and said their honeymoon started right after the wedding, and he didn't want to be in the apartment. Arthur couldn't argue. He hates to be taken care of, hates it, would rather be the caregiver, but he likes it in Eduardo and likes the way he does it. Like it's not a big deal, like it doesn't have strings - because it doesn't. Unconditional love and affection.

They sink into the room - the suite - and are exhausted, barely with capacity to wheel their bags in. They both shed clothes like they're covered in honey, and he suggests a shower. They actually shower and barely talk - too tired.

When they're drying off and getting ready for bed, Arthur jokes, "This is how we start our marriage? Just silent and, like, exhausted? Also, I ate too much. People always say they never eat enough at their own weddings, but I'm so-"

"Arthur, stop, I have to tell you something."

He had just been pulling up his boxer briefs, which he finishes in a hurry and sits, because Eduardo's face has turned grave. Eduardo sits down next to him but they're not touching. Arthur is panicking, running through everything - he's sick, someone died, he's lost all his money.

Arthur is almost relieved when Eduardo says, "I saw Mark," because at least he doesn't have a rare blood disorder. But then he comes to his senses and realizes this is actually much, much worse, and the expression on Eduardo's face says it all. "I saw him. I - I guess I did more than see him. We - hooked up."

Arthur's in shock. If he wasn't he'd ask for details. He'd ask if Mark fucked him in their bed - or maybe on the couch - or maybe against the window with the view Eduardo loves so much. He'd ask how he could do that before getting married. He'd ask if he still loves Mark or wants to be with him or if this was a one time thing. But he's in shock, because he didn't think this could happen to him again, so he says, "Oh."

"It was. A stupid, very stupid, drunk mistake. I love you so much," Eduardo says as he begins to cry. He gets to his knees, working his way in between Arthur's legs, and holds him around the waist. Still shell shocked, Arthur lets him. "I had to tell you right away. I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm sorry it happened and I'm sorry that I have to tell you about it on our fucking wedding night. We should be sappy and fucking, and I'm ruining everything. God, every time I think about it I want to die." Now he's just blubbering.

Arthur strokes his hair and kisses the crown of his head, and sighs, short and ragged. He supposes this was bound to happen. He didn't expect it, but now upon hearing the news and processing it, it's barely a surprise.

They've both fucked around a little. Arthur got a blow job in a bathroom stall at Industry while Eduardo was away, and there have been a couple of threesomes and foursomes. It's casual, it's okay. Arthur doesn't own Eduardo's body - or mind - or anything. He just wants to love him, and as long as nothing interferes with that, they can survive.

"Do you want to be with him?" Arthur asks.

"I want to be with you," Eduardo says declaratively, looking up from his place on the floor.  
Classic misdirection. But he'll take it because he's tired and can't look at him with all that pain and guilt embedded into his face.

He pulls Eduardo onto the bed next to him. "Let's sleep, baby, and we'll talk more later."

Eduardo sniffles. "Do you want to divorce me?"

Arthur turns out the light and they're wrapped in darkness. "No. I don't." He reaches out and holds Eduardo's hand. "Thanks for telling me."

How Cecilia Doesn't Learn Anything

She's on the couch on her new iPad, a birthday gift from Mark, when she hears him rumbling in, and it makes her smile. "Hi honey," she calls, and the noise ceases. "Hi," he responds, still not in view, "I thought you'd be in bed. That's why I didn't call."

"Mark, come to me, I'm a beached whale," she calls cheerfully. He appears a few seconds later, and leans down to kiss her for too short a time. "I thought you were getting back tomorrow."

"Yeah, I just - came back early." He sinks down to the couch next to her. "How are you?"

She smiles and rubs her belly. "Just waiting for Maya to get the fuck born," she coos softly, as sweetly as she can.

He smiles too and puts one hand over hers. "Kicking?"

"No, well, yes, but contractions, too. Just Braxton-Hicks, but, you know, she's on her way."  
Mark nods and stares straight ahead, looking so tired. Poor baby.

Cecilia asks about the trip. "And, hey, I saw you on The Daily Show. Did I tell you that already? I thought you were great. Jon was tough on the IPO stuff, but fair too, and you really held your own."

"Hmm" is all he says.

"Mark, are you feeling okay?" She asks, and it takes him a good five, ten seconds to reply.

"Yeah, no, I'm just - traveling. Flying. Makes me - tired."

She ruffles his hair. "Okay. Hey. I'm going to bed. Will you join me?" She grits her teeth through a contraction and he barely looks at her. "I'll be up in a minute," he says, sounding distracted. She gives him an appraising look because she can't quite figure out what he's feeling or what's going on, and she can't tell what's looming on his face.

"Okay," she replies.

He doesn't join her for a long while.

How They Have a Double Date

"Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?" Eduardo mutters under his breath.

"Behave. And you did," Arthur whispers in reply. "What's wrong? You fucked him, you married me, he has a child. Seems like everything's in balance." He catches Eduardo's chin in his hand. "I don't care, okay, I just don't. I trust you." He kisses him on the mouth, and that's when the door opens.

They pull apart and it's Mark looking sour with a baby on his hip. "Hi, thanks for coming." He opens the door wider and they hear a woman's call, "Babe, are they here?"

Eduardo has been assaulted with so much - babies, terms of endearments - that all he can really do is stop kissing Arthur and try to force his face into a smile. He takes Arthur's hand and says, "Hi, thanks for having us!" much more chipper than he really means. Arthur, in much more genuine fashion, holds out his hand to Mark, introduces himself. Mark hands off the baby to Eduardo, which is weird - he rarely holds babies or children of any kind. And this one's Mark's - double weird. Mark and Arthur shake hands and Eduardo holds Maya who starts wailing at being held by a stranger.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Cecilia says, advancing into the hall. "What - oh, hey, guy holding my baby. You must be Eduardo. Here, I'll take her," she offers, sweeping in and plucking her stormy baby out of his arms, but then she doubles back to kiss his cheek, then leans in to do the same to Arthur. "Thanks so much for coming! It's so nice to meet you, finally."

This is his replacement. He tries not to think of her that way, but that's who she is. She used to be skinny, in that Asian girl way, but now she has just the slightest rounding in her figure, and she looks even better than what he'd seen on Facebook. How is that even fair. She's looking him over too, and smiling, and then just leaning in the slightest bit again - "God, I'm sorry, it's just that you - that smell. You must use the same aftershave Mark does. Totally familiar scent."

Eduardo laughs. "Mark uses aftershave? I don't think so."

Cecilia keeps smiling, but the expression tightens. "Maybe he didn't used to, but he does now."  
Eduardo looks at Mark - he looks caught - and Eduardo flirts with the otherworldly idea that Mark might have started wearing aftershave because it reminded him of Eduardo, and his wife has no clue.

And since arriving a minute ago, he takes his first look at Mark since drunkenly fucking him half a year ago, and he's pleased that Mark looks exhausted and drawn and kind of crappy, like he did at school when he'd spend all night coding, except at least he was young. Now he's knocking on 30 and it's not as cute.

But the problem, he realizes as they head inside, is that looking at Mark will always be complicated, because he'll always look at him and see the boy he fell in love with, the boy who hurt him, the man he fell for all over again, and the man he walked out on because there was no other choice if he was to save them from total emotional annihilation. As they walk inside, Cecilia and Arthur ahead of them, Mark reaches out and ever so gently brushes Eduardo's hand with his. Eduardo immediately whips his head towards Mark, who looks away like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did happen, maybe it was an accident, but Eduardo can still feel Mark's skin against his.

Cecilia went all out - hors d'oeuvres and a 27-year-old bottle of bourbon and birds of paradise in vases - but none of it can distract Eduardo from feeling like a stranger in a home that he himself decorated and cleaned and prepared for events like this. He knew it, but until seeing it he didn't get the full effect of what it meant for Mark not to move. Everything's different - Cecilia's style is much more hippie, lots of reclaimed wood and more fabric than Eduardo can stomach - but it's still here beyond the new aesthetic, this house they originally bought together because it suited their needs. Space for offices, a great backyard, extra bedrooms - room for a dog, children, maybe, someday.

He wonders if it suits Cecilia's needs.

He rises out of the fog at the tail end of a story she's telling, and he's disappointed that she's so likable. "This is my first night drinking in so long," she says, slurring her words just the smallest bit, and adorably. "Maybe you should take it easy then," Mark mutters, and just as quietly but still as audibly she replies, "Maybe you should shut the hell up." But she smiles then, beaming at him, and kisses his cheek before checking on dinner.

Mark asks Arthur inane questions about work, like his mother's at his back, poking him to do it, but Arthur is a trooper and as an information science person, Eduardo is well aware that Arthur is starstruck to meet Mark. He asks Mark about developing Timeline and its implications for organizations and entities, and a light sparks in Mark's eyes. They chat about the site using a level of detail in which Eduardo frankly has never been interested, and he gets up, seeking Cecilia out.

She's happily humming at the stove when he arrives, and she beckons him over with a lazy smile, putting a spoon to his mouth. It's some tomato saffron thing and it's delicious, and he tells her so. "Serves my mother right. 'You need to learn how to cook!' Eduardo Saverin says I can cook." She hands him a wooden spoon and tells him to stir. "I just - want you to know - I don't - I think you're great. I'm glad Mark liked you, loved you, whatever." Her teeth are stained from red wine and so are her lips. "And I'm glad you're here now. Keep stirring," she admonishes lightly when he stops to stare. He continues to stir and she puts on Billie Holiday.

If he were as drunk as her, he'd talk about how she stepped into his life; he'd ask her if she'd realized it, the Eduardo-shaped hole she now inhabits. Mark needed someone to care for him, water him, feed him, and he has a new person to do that. But he's not that drunk and keeps it to himself.

At dinner he watches them together and notices this energy, this rhythm they have. They trade the baby back and forth while they eat, they work as a team, but not in a begrudging way; in a real and honest way. He's taken with it and at one point Arthur texts him: _quit fucking staring weirdo._

They talk a little bit about business, but they're all shareholders in one form or another, so a conversation about the upcoming F8 is not uncouth. Mark and Eduardo are led to remember a particular night at Harvard, a random but important one when Mark had made some decisions about searchability, and Eduardo is brought back like a flash, remembering a time when Mark was an infallible sorcerer. How Eduardo thinks of Mark today is far from this, but it doesn't lessen the feeling of nostalgia.

Cecilia insists they stay over; there's been just enough alcohol imbibed. They agree after some look sharing and repair to a guest room. Eduardo undresses down to his shorts, but paces while he does. "This is weird, actually, and if we weren't so-"

"I know, babe, I know," Arthur interrupts, covering Eduardo’s mouth with his hand then with his lips. After Arthur falls asleep, Eduardo gives up trying to do the same and heads downstairs to - he doesn't know what. But he does when he's down there; he snoops, looking at photos on the wall of trips, their wedding day, their kid.

He's not surprised when Mark joins him or when he gets kissed, or when Mark whispers, "I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," and he's especially not surprised when Mark blows him in the downstairs bathroom. He's not surprised, and he's not proud of this, but he expected this, a little, and he'd have been more surprised if it hadn't happened. He grips the edge of the sink that’s digging into his ass, and then one hand strays to Mark’s hair and he holds on tight. He loses himself in the feeling of this, of course he does, it’s a blow job, but that the mouth is Mark’s makes him come so much faster, and he bites his hand so he won’t make any noise. Mark licks his lips and gets up onto his feet, and Eduardo is quick to crush Mark to him, in case he does something crazy like try to run away. He shoves Mark against the bathroom wall and shoves a hand into his pants, palming his dick with limited mobility. Mark undoes his pants and they both sigh gratefully, Eduardo’s hand slipping down - harder, stronger, faster. He leans their foreheads together as he jerks Mark off, and Mark is muttering nonsense. “You’re the last guy - on earth - if you were - and I’d want you to. No, no, oh, fuck.”

And then Mark comes and they’re just two guys covered in sweat and jizz with their spouses upstairs. It feels very, very not okay.

They wash up in the bathroom, awkwardly, and Mark asks if he wants to get drunk and Eduardo replies, "Yes, please." They sit in the backyard and pass that bottle of bourbon back and forth, slowly, their fingers brushing when they make the exchange. They don't talk about what happened, they don't talk about what happened six months ago, but Mark talks about becoming a father. Being in the room, seeing Cecilia exhibit a strength he knows he physically or mentally does not have, seeing his baby for the first time, cutting the umbilical cord, holding Maya. Mark speaks with a wonderment and reverence usually reserved exclusively for Facebook, and Eduardo is touched to see Mark so taken. "I've just been in this tunnel lately, so focused on her. Our COO is sort of acting CEO and I just - can't care. I don't care about the site for the first time since - ever. It is truly amazing." 

Mark gulps, Eduardo can see his Adam's apple bob. "I had been all focused on her, but then I heard that - that you might be coming here, that I might see you." Mark's eyes finally find his. "And I - I'm just really glad to see you." Mark takes the bottle back, takes a long pull. 

Eduardo puts his hand on Mark's arm. "Me too," he says, and he knows he's completely, irrevocably, and utterly fucked.

How Eduardo Celebrates His 31st Birthday

All Eduardo has is an address and time, texted to him by Mark before he took off from SFO. The address is some random high rise in Battery Park City and it's the middle of the day on a Tuesday, Eduardo's birthday. He waits and waits, and composes an angry text but then Mark is in front of him, in his adult uniform, an upgrade from college: gray t-shirt, jeans, sneakers. His face breaks into a grin when he approaches Eduardo and he reaches out to hug him, but quickly changes his mind and grips his shoulder. "Hi," he says, and all of this makes Eduardo grin despite the guilt churning anxious juices in his stomach.

"How was your fl-"

"Nevermind," Mark says, pushing Eduardo into the building. Mark picks up an envelope at the desk and then takes them to the elevator, keys something in from the envelope, and up they go.

"Did you - what is happening?" Eduardo asks.

Mark smiles shyly. "Well, this is kind of a birthday present."

Given their history and Mark's inability to mark occasion, this takes Eduardo by surprise. "What do you..." But then Eduardo can't speak because the elevator doors open onto an apartment with 360 views of New York, New Jersey, and, just, wow. Mark stands, body taut and nervous, with his hands behind his back. "This is my first time seeing it, too. I picked it from photos and someone Chris knew decorated. I made sure to make a couple of gay interior decorator jokes and they went over like lead balloons. Much like the mention of them now. So. What do you think?"

Eduardo can't stop looking at the view. "I already have an apartment, Mark."

"No, no, this is my - I bought this - I just don't want to go to hotels anymore when I come in. It's seedy. It's not what this is." Eduardo's looking somewhere in Jersey City when Mark says this, and he's happy because he agrees, but is dismayed because they're both being dishonest, shitty people and now they have an official den for their morally repugnant behavior.

The thing about morally repugnant, though, is that ultimately means something hot, at least in this situation, and Eduardo makes quick work of getting Mark naked and on a flat surface, in this case the floor. He's sucking Mark's cock and Mark is grabbing Eduardo's hair and babbling, his breaths unsteady and desperate, when he suddenly puts his hands on Eduardo's shoulders to stop him. Eduardo draws up off Mark's cock and moves his gaze to Mark's face.

"I just remembered I have a present for you."

Mark gets up, naked, his naked erect cock looking like it's making walking painful, and he rummages through his bag. He pulls out a small case that looks like it might hold a diamond necklace and walks to Eduardo - painfully - and he tries not to follow his cock with his eyes too hungrily.

Eduardo takes the present, smiling, so curious, and is confused to open it, a solid gold - something.

"It is officially called a gentleman's massager-"

"But we're just talking about a butt toy," Eduardo interrupts, because he quickly gets it. This is what a billionaire buys for presents: an apartment to fuck in and something to fuck with. He appraises Mark's face, searching, but he can't quite understand what's there. "Do you want me to use it on you?" He asks, but he asks it like he's telling.

Mark's face is perfectly clear then, and Eduardo continues to blow him, slipping the toy in and out while Mark's body rolls and his moans grow louder and more pleading, and the whole thing gets Eduardo hard, fast.

Before Mark can even come, Eduardo's replacing the massager with his own cock sheathed in latex and lube, and he groans when he pushes inside, because even after the toy in his ass he's still tight, because that's just the way Mark is built, tight and neurotic and coiled. If he could fuck it out of him he would or die trying, and he's not making sense but Mark feels so fucking good, his legs up on Eduardo's shoulders, and Eduardo slamming into him. With the pressure from Eduardo hitting his prostate and the blow job before, Mark comes quickly, quietly, and Eduardo only knows when he catches Mark coming down from the ecstasy, his face going from high to blissed. Mark's face is loose, his body too, and Eduardo continues fucking into him. With Mark's attention on him, Eduardo feels him squeezing his muscles around his cock, and he's gone, fast, fast, this whole thing is too fast, and he barely enjoys it. Except of course he enjoys it, because being balls deep in Mark Zuckerberg is a privilege he alone has had.

They shower separately; Mark goes first and Eduardo checks his email. Work stuff mostly, a forward from Arthur about Christmas in Wisconsin. Eduardo puts his phone to sleep and tucks it in his jacket pocket. Christmas is a long way away, but Arthur's family does a whole thing - sweaters and caroling. Arthur hates and loves it, and Eduardo has not yet been able to make it, but this will be the year, or, it's supposed to be the year.

Mark comes out of the shower, hair wet, skin pinkish, and Eduardo thinks back to Cambridge in 2002 and his life keeps moving in circles and he couldn't control it even if he wanted. He kisses Mark, his cheek, his chin. He's still using their aftershave and Eduardo buries his face in Mark's neck, nuzzling his skin with nose and mouth. They stand like that until Mark whispers, "Wardo, you smell like semen," and Eduardo backs up, heading to the bathroom. "I like it," Mark calls, "but you're an adult, get it together."

Eduardo soaps up - apparently interior designing also includes the addition of a lifetime supply of Kiehl's - and his recovery time grows and grows as he gets older, but right now he has an unflagging erection. He wishes he didn't feel that way. He wishes he felt more ashamed and not completely inflamed by doing the wrong thing, but it's like he has this clear light, this thing that makes sense, and there's this certain symmetry to being with Mark. It has - it probably always will - feel so good, and he hates that he's so happy to bask in his presence, like a lapdog, like a child enamored with his father.

And there - finally something to make him go soft.

He gets out and Mark is on his laptop, but when Eduardo peeks over his shoulder he is surprised to see that Mark is not coding but is on Yelp, looking for places to eat lunch nearby. "Maybe we should order in," Eduardo says, unsure, and Mark fixes him with a 'Are you stupid? Please don't be stupid, because unfortunately I like you' look. "I just wouldn't want to run into anyone."

Mark frowns. They settle on the Upper West Side and eat sushi, and Mark rambles about a new update, something amazing for Pages, until Eduardo zones out. He comes back to Mark waving chopsticks in his face and Eduardo blinks.

"Yo," Eduardo says and Mark smiles, so Eduardo smiles. "So why are you in town? I didn't ask."

Mark looks at him like he's a moron but then his expression turns to panic. "Wait, it's your birthday today, isn't it? I checked on the site."

Eduardo nods slowly. "Yes, today." He's still so surprised that he can't even check himself when he says, "You never used to remember."

"I do now," Mark quickly replies, almost annoyed, but Eduardo pats his knee under the table and smiles at him. And he wonders if Cecilia's trained him with such manners, finally housebroken him in a way that Eduardo never could, or maybe this is because this is truly a fresh start for them. But fresh doesn't usually include spouses and lives on opposite coasts. Eduardo sighs and finishes his sake.

They go to the Angelika to see a Brazilian movie, and at this point Eduardo is overwhelmed at how thoughtful this is, all of it, and he's sure Mark has been replaced with an android. A nicer twin. He's slipped into a parallel universe. 

In the theater he slips his hand up and down the back of Mark's neck. Mark leans in and smushes his face into the curve of Eduardo's neck. "This is boring," he whispers. "But I thought you wanted to brush up on your Portuguese," Eduardo whispers back, not taking his eyes off the screen, wrapping his arm around Mark's shoulders. They're pretty much alone here and isolated, and it's nice.

"Yeah, I haven't really had the opportunity to practice it," Mark replies, and it hits Eduardo the wrong way, like it's his fault or something, but then Mark's putting one hand on Eduardo's crotch, and Mark could set Eduardo on fire for all he cares. He turns his head looking for a kiss, but Mark pushes it back so that he's facing the screen. "Keep your eyes on your fellow countrymen," Mark mumbles before unfastening Eduardo's pants and pulling his cock out. 

Eduardo glances around nervously, but they're isolated and besides people actually came here to watch a film, unlike Mark, who leans over and takes Eduardo's dick in his mouth, no pretense. Eduardo feels embarrassment blooming in his cheeks - or is it arousal? - and he connects with Mark with one hand on his head. "Shh," he warns, but Mark is a relatively quiet cocksucker; really, he needs to take his own advice because he's sure he's going to come in like a second, loudly. Mark's mouth gets tighter, and hotter, too, and Eduardo thinks about that time that he and Mark had sex twice during the duration of a flight to Singapore. You wouldn't know it by looking at him, but Mark is a slut with an exhibitionist streak, and Eduardo's so glad that he gets to benefit from that. 

He works his fingers into Mark's curls and rakes his fingers against his scalp, and keeps his hip thrusting to a minimum until he can't control himself any longer, and Mark's taking as much of him down as he can, and he adds one hand to stroke Eduardo's balls, and, fuck, it's too much and Mark moans, loud enough to be mortifying, but luckily Eduardo gets off on that a little, or a lot, and he comes, keeping Mark's head steady as he thrusts into his mouth. He slumps in his seat after, and Mark laughs, then takes a swig from their water bottle. They hold hands for the rest of the movie.

When they leave the theater it's still light out, and Eduardo squints in the sun. "That's the end of my plans. What else do you want to do?" Mark asks.

Arthur asked him to be home at 8 for dinner "and more." They have a few more hours together, and suddenly Eduardo feels panicky, like he always does, to have their time coming to a close. He doesn't know what he wants, so he suggests that they go back to Mark's. They hop in a taxi and speed over, and Mark keeps shooting him these little looks, ranging from 'I love you' to 'I'm going to fuck you so hard.'

When they get inside, Mark attaches himself to Eduardo, which he doesn't object to, per se, but he doesn't always want to be fucking Mark. Sometimes, his company alone is enough, because, for Eduardo, this isn't solely about sex. He pries Mark's hands off his crotch, but he's relentless and undeterred, his hands unbuttoning his shirt, and Eduardo's cock starts to stir. "I want to fuck you, Wardo, okay, please, I need-"

Mark's need is Eduardo's weakness, he'd resigned himself to it years ago, and Eduardo pushes them towards the bedroom, picking up Mark's backpack on the way. He wonders if Cecilia ever looks in there, wonders about that small pocket, almost hidden, always stocked with condoms and lube. If she ever found it, he wonders if she'd know that the backpack was a gift from Eduardo many years prior, that Mark's holding on to it made Eduardo a little sentimental. He used to pack Mark lunch and -

But that's irrelevant, it all is, and he seats himself on the bed, and then Mark pounces, Eduardo forced onto his back with Mark on top. Mark still has his shirt on but his pants are open and he's reared up on his knees, fisting his cock and breathing heavy, staring at Eduardo. "I thought you wanted to fuck me," Eduardo says as calmly as he possibly can, given the scene in front of him.

"Can't wait to get you ready, want you too much."

He's flattered if a bit confused on the logic. "Do you want to come on my face?"

Mark lets out a short laugh. "When don't I?" He keeps jerking himself off, staring at Eduardo with a fixed intensity. "Wish I was fucking you." Eduardo reaches down to cup himself. He's getting hard, but not enough that he can come anytime soon. Mark is hot, they are hot together, but he's getting older and can only come so many times in a day. Still, he touches and watches. "You got too impatient, Mark," he reminds. "You were too fucking close and hard, baby."

"You take too long to stretch out," he huffs. "You'd think getting fucked by guys on a regular basis would take care of that." Mark's misunderstanding of anatomy is astounding.

"I object to ‘guys.’ There are only two," Eduardo rebuts, right before he puts Mark's index and middle finger into his own mouth, sucking on them, tongue swirling.

Mark moans sharply, like Eduardo's hurt him, but then his moans grow soft, then impatient, and finally demanding. His fist speeds up and his words fill in the blanks, "You wish that was my cock, don't you." Eduardo nods, his mouth full. "You love sucking me off." More nodding, now Mark too. "You fucking love gagging on my cock." Eduardo fixes him with a look like: ‘That's completely untrue, but hey, whatever gets you off.’ Mark tosses his head back and keeps jerking, he's sweating now, profusely, and he looks like he's really working for this orgasm, like it's not coming easy, like he's not coming easily. Eduardo takes Mark's fingers out of his mouth and coaches him, "Come, baby, come for me, come on me, get me dirty, mark me up-" And as soon as he's hit that kink Mark is coming, spurts of jizz coating Eduardo's face, chest, and stomach. He licks it off his lips as Mark slumps against him. He stays like that and Eduardo feels Mark's dick softening, his semen drying on his torso, glued to Mark's shirt. It's not exactly sexy but it's intimate, it's connection, and the feeling makes for a great birthday present.

They loll in bed for a little bit, 20 minutes or so, and with dread and guilt in his body Eduardo gets up, washes up. Mark hangs in the doorway, watching, and Eduardo finds him with his eyes. He asks a question without asking it and Mark replies with a shrug.

"I have work to do," Mark says, and Eduardo feels the gate around Mark's heart start to close, because it's when they're leaving that Mark remembers what this is, and there's a limit to how much control he has. In some ways Eduardo takes pleasure in it, but in most ways he hates it just as much, and it makes his heart twist to be in this limbo time, leaving Mark and getting ready to go back to Arthur.

This time, though, Mark adds, "And you have to get back to your husband." Eduardo nods slowly. "Why aren't I your husband?" Mark asks plainly, like it isn't the most loaded question Eduardo has ever been handed. He puts his head down, chin to chest, and closes his eyes. When he looks up Mark is gone.

At the door he yells for him, and he emerges from a second bedroom. He's slouchy now, less present and attentive, and Eduardo feels soured - this is the guy he's risking his near perfect relationship for? Mark kisses him goodbye, his hands grasping at his lapels, and he's pulling at him like he needs him, like he went from the pouting stage back to desire. As they kiss, he thinks he hears him whisper, "Stay," but he could be hearing things. It doesn't matter, because they kiss goodbye and as usual they will go back to happy homes and legal spouses and no one will leave anyone. But it doesn't mean they don't need each other like fire needs a spark.

He walks home, he's close enough, and he barely turns his key in the lock before he hears Arthur's voice. "Final grades are in, and I'm going to fuck you until you beg me-" Eduardo opens the door and Arthur beams, stopping in mid-sentence. "To stop," he finishes, kissing Eduardo hard.

Eduardo's post-Mark regimen includes a general body rinse, mouthwash, a re-application of cologne and aftershave, and a quick brain bleach. _You do not remember how Mark's dick tastes. You cannot recall the feel of his hair in your fingers, the soft down of his stomach, the hard planes of his thighs._

When Arthur pulls back, he says, "Happy Birthday, baby," and Eduardo smiles, happy to be home. Arthur guides him into their dining room, a barely used space, and Eduardo is pleasantly surprised to see a takeout bags from Masak, which always satisfies his cravings for Singaporean food, and a lopsided pink cake. Arthur nudges his shoulder. "I baked, honey," he says proudly.

And, like clockwork, Eduardo's guilt sets in deep, first in his stomach and then it seeps out to the rest of his organs. He puts a smile on his face and eats a great dinner, then blows out the candles, wishing to be a better man.

When Cecilia Has Doubts

She watches Eduardo and Maya in the pool from the kitchen, and she's just the smallest bit nervous, but he looks like he's fine on his own. Still, she watches him bounce her once, twice, then submerge her, and she immediately calls to Mark to get his ass off the computer and go outside. He goes, grumbling.

She thinks herself pretty modern - keeping up a good relationship with Mark's ex. Mark's gay male ex. Not all women are so evolved, but she sat with it for a long time, and at the end of the day Mark doesn't have many friends he can trust, who understand him. Any strange feelings she has about Eduardo are mitigated by the fact that they have this history of friendship that began way before anything else. Eduardo is happily married to someone who is frankly more attractive than her husband. For Cecilia there are only upsides.

Arthur comes inside after his tanning and iPad reading regimen to make margaritas, and she points him in the right direction while she finishes the salad. He hands his first concoction over and she sips, the alcohol hitting her taste buds before anything else. "Whoa," she croaks, and he pronounces that excellent. He keeps working.

"It's so nice to have you and Eduardo here. You know, I was just thinking, it's a complicated thing - money, history, everything - and I'm just glad Mark has someone to share it with." Arthur stares at her like he's got something to say, but then he just nods and looks away. She almost asks what he meant, but then she continues on. "And just in terms of, like, couples. We hang out a lot with Mark's colleagues, and sometimes that's awful - all the site talk. So it's like, you and Eduardo get it but you're not in it. It's a great combination."

Arthur finishes his batch and is just very quiet next to her. "Well. Thanks," he finally says. Then his face brightens. "I'm always glad to be invited over. I like you, I think you're - terrific." Cecilia smiles, pleased. "We don't talk a lot about Facebook, I mean, when we're just home. He's an investor, there's of course a very complicated nature to the whole - but ultimately it's just one of many. Eduardo has really moved on."

She can't but feel a little affronted by what he said, like what she had said was somehow silly or - but she's overreacting. She must be. She shakes it off and says, "That must be so nice. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a Facebook wife. First lady of Facebook. It's not what I ever imagined for myself." And then she finds that she's said something she didn't mean to say. She bites her lip. "Oh, but I'm just being silly."

He leans his elbows on the counter, hands cupping his cheeks. "It's not silly. Being an adult is full of compromises, surprises... Yeah. You know."

She taps the counter with her fingertips. As long as she got started.

"I get called Mrs. Zuckerberg all the time. It's not so bothersome, but at no time do I ever use it. I kept my name for a lot of reasons, and one was that I knew that my life would get positively swallowed by Mark and the site, and I know it's mostly symbolic but I'm my own woman. I'm a separate person." She's getting worked up, so upset, and Arthur pats her back. She's grateful for it.

"Just because something's true doesn't mean it's easy," he says, pushing a margarita into her hand. Grateful again, she drinks it too fast.

The day goes on and they're getting ready for bed, or, she's getting ready and Mark is in his boxers and on his computer. She kisses his head as she passes him and spots a bruise on his shoulder blade. "Are you okay?" She asks. The Asian mother in her jumps to leukemia.

He shrugs it off. "No. Yeah, no, it's not a big deal. I'm fine. I think Maya just-"

And then he just stops talking. She grimaces as she heads to the bathroom because she absolutely fucking hates it when he does that, and she hears her sister in her head, reminding her that, "You married him." She washes her face and brushes her teeth and returns to the bedroom where Mark is still hunched, mute, over his laptop. She slips between the sheets and eventually feels him settle in next to her, after putting the laptop away and turning off the light. He folds his body around her and she takes the affection he's willing to give.

"I'm glad that Eduardo and Arthur came over," she says.

"Mmm," is all he says, and he's pressing against her. He's getting hard. She's tired.

"It's nice. To see them. I'm glad."

He presses now with intention, and the hand at her hip strokes her stomach. 

"I was talking to - and - you know, sometimes I." This was a lot easier when she said this to Arthur. Talking to Mark is always so hard. "I gave up - gladly - on my - you know, work stuff, and I sometimes. I worry-"

"Cecilia," Mark says, no nonsense, and although he's close he's no longer proposition her. "I don't care." He sighs. "I mean, you can do whatever you want. I depend on you, for a lot, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't feel fulfilled and happy. This isn't Mad Men, for fuck's sake."

She smiles in the dark and bends their faces so that they can kiss, and she puts one of his hands under her nightgown. A little corner of her brain, a little pocket of her heart, wonders when she got so fearful to make waves. When did compromise become preferable, the first option? And in this tiny universe inside of her, she also hates the way he wrote her off, like she was so silly, when in truth his journey is privileged over hers. She's just along for the ride.

But she doesn't want to fight. She doesn't. And as he spreads her legs with gentle yet persistent fingers, the ounces of doubt and hurt seep out. 

That night, they get pregnant for the second time.

When Arthur Talks to Mark Alone

Eduardo likes having Mark and Arthur in the same space, and Arthur cannot figure it out - except that it's confirmation that Eduardo is a masochist, and his upbringing of everyone pretending to be nice is how he feels most comfortable, and he's forever doomed to keep playing this game. This thought alone makes Arthur sad for his husband, and as much as he wants to break him of this habit, he wants him to feel better. So he accompanies him to an awkward dinner where Mark is cagey and stilted, as usual, and Eduardo tries to steer the conversation to shared topics.

Eventually Eduardo heads to the bathroom and the inevitable weird, thick tension sits on top of the table. Arthur sips his beer, sets it down with a clink. "So. How's Cecilia? And Maya?"

Mark nods silently for too long. "Fine. Yeah. Everyone's fine."

And then it's quiet.

Arthur knows how to overindulge in alcohol, and he didn't tonight, but now he wishes he did because he has no excuse when he starts to riff. "Must be strange. To sleep with a man and then a woman. The last time I had sex with a woman a Republican was in his first term," he jokes.

Mark looks at him, cold, and then replies after a time, "Sex is sex is sex. It's basically the same. Though I do miss those times when Eduardo would try and fail to deep throat me."

He can't believe that someone would fucking say that, like that, so casually, but he gets the feeling like he's being goaded. "And that's because your cock is so huge and girthy," Arthur says, sarcastically and unamused. "Mark, I can't be roused to jealousy. It's boring, for one."

Mark does this thing, adjusting his silverware, and doesn’t look up. "Eduardo told me that you weren't jealous. That's a cute thing to say."

Arthur looks at Mark square, even though he doesn't return the look. "Mark, I think you're used to people being envious of you, but I'm not. You don't have anything I want." Mark has this glint in his eye and although Arthur isn't jealous, he has little interest in Mark's silent gloating. "My husband fucked you the night before our wedding, I know it, but he married me anyway. If you were what he wanted, we wouldn't be at this pageant of a dinner, for chrissakes." 

Arthur sits back in his chair, feeling satisfied, but Mark's expression stays the same, smug. "It sounds like you are indeed fast to jealousy," Mark says, and Arthur stormclouds until Eduardo gets back.

"How's it going?" He asks and Arthur smiles up at him. Mark glowers.

When they get home, they have quick and economical sex in the shower, hands all over each other but then more practiced, focused hands on each other's cocks, jerking each other off, grip hard, fast. They sag against each other, water drilling down on their tired, spent skin.

When they're in bed half-asleep, Arthur asks Eduardo something he's been meaning to ask, and his loose and loopy brain lets him pose, "Are you still in love with Mark?"

Eduardo's body goes rigid and jerks away. "What - why would you ask me that?"

Arthur shrugs. "A hunch. It's okay, I just want to know." Then, "I mean, he's your ex. We see him a lot."

"He's not just my ex," Eduardo fumes, out of proportion to Arthur's question. "He's my friend, I've known him longer than I've known you, and just because we're not together doesn't mean-"

"Whoa, whoa," Arthur murmurs softly, laying one hand on Eduardo's bare chest. "I'm sorry I asked, okay, it was just a curiosity. You're good." He stays in his spot, close, but Eduardo made him feel so strange for asking. It's not out of the realm. It, in fact, makes a fuckload of sense. He shifts onto his side and Eduardo doesn't go after him.

Later that night, half asleep, he sort of senses that Eduardo gets out of bed. Bleary eyed, he gropes for his glasses on the nightstand, and he searches him out, finding him in the study.

"- can't do it anymore. I can't," Arthur overhears. "This isn't like the other times when I said - I mean it now." Eduardo looks like he's listening to a response when he turns and sees Arthur standing there. "Gotta go - Tom. See you tomorrow." He hangs up and tosses his phone to the desk. "Tom. He called. I'm just really tired... of late night calls. My work is important but not - that important. I can't - anyway." He finally turns to him, and his eyes are soft. "Sorry I woke you, baby."

Arthur rubs his eyes, tired. "'S okay. Can we go to back to bed?"

Eduardo nods, grabbing his cell and leading Arthur back to bed, and Arthur feels so tired as he falls back into bed, tugging Eduardo with him.

Later, he'll remember this night, he'll know what happened on that phone call, but the next morning after it he doesn't remember, not at all.

When Normalcy Slips In

Eduardo's place in San Francisco is ostentatious, like it's shouting I HAVE MONEY, but Mark likes it okay. It's far from the center of the city but it overlooks the ocean. "I need that," Eduardo says, "I can't be landlocked. I need to feel..." He looks out the window and Mark follows his gaze to the setting sun, the ocean, and they stand together quietly.

Eduardo says he has to get home earlier than he originally thought - Arthur is presenting at some conference and apparently it's some big damn deal - and Eduardo apologizes like he'd set something on fire. Mark shrugs.

"Worse things, man, don't worry."

In truth he's a little bothered, but mostly it's fine. These things happen, it's happened before, when Maya got sick, and as much as he craves Eduardo when he's not around, even infidelity can get monotonous. Though they no longer live together, somehow normalcy slipped in, and the stuff that annoyed Mark about Eduardo has crept to the surface, the normal day-to-day stuff that he thought they'd be able to leave behind. Like: Does Eduardo's voice really have to be that nagging?

They order in dinner, Eduardo answering the door, and eat Thai in front of the TV, too tired for catch up; Eduardo had had a hellish flight, Mark had crammed a few days of work into one to compensate for his time with Eduardo. They shower, tired, but still happy to be together, and exchange lazy hand jobs and wet kisses.

In bed Eduardo is quiet, mournfully so, and Mark can't figure it out. He also feels blessed to have quiet and doesn't want to draw attention to it. He strokes the back of Eduardo's neck with steady, calming fingers until he recognizes it as a gesture he uses on Maya, and then he cuts it out quick.

"Arthur wanted to have a threesome," Eduardo says out of nowhere and Mark is startled, enough to ask, "With you and I?"

Eduardo sighs. "No. Me, him, and someone else."

"Who?" Mark asks urgently.

"It doesn't matter," Eduardo says irritably. "I'm telling you because I said no. I couldn't - Mark, I couldn't fathom doing that to you. And that's when I realized - just how fucked up I am, how fucked up this all is. A sanctioned threesome with my husband is like cheating on you. Logic - just..."

Mark says, "But you cheat on me all the time. With your husband. You sleep with Arthur."

"May I remind you," Eduardo replies, "that I'm always, constantly cheating on him by sleeping with you, the guy I'm not legally bound to." Mark hates when Eduardo gets huffy like this. "And besides you still have sex with Cecilia."

"God," Mark mumbles, then, "I wasn't saying - okay. Whatever."

Their bodies shift apart.

"What I want to say," Eduardo says, breaking the quiet, "is that it's remarkable to have a commitment to each other. It may also involve other people, and it may be weird, but I'm still just, and always - committed to you."

Mark moves in closer to Eduardo, just a little. It's sappy as shit but he sneaks his hand into Eduardo's and leaves it there, and he drifts off to sleep.

He wakes later, at 3:46, and his head feels strange and muddled. He grabs for Eduardo who's still there, warm and solid and sleeping, and he feels bad to wake him but not that bad. "Hey," he says, shaking him, and Eduardo slowly stirs, bleary-eyed and cranky. "Do you ever think of leaving him? Doing this seriously? Just us? Trying again?"

"No," Eduardo says immediately, and Mark deflates.

"Well. Why the fuck not?"

Eduardo pulls Mark back down so that they're laying together. He spoons him and holds him around the middle. "'Cuz. We're better like this. Go back t'sleep."

Mark lays there, stirring. "I'm not saying I'm going to leave, but I'm saying, I could. If you wanted to, I would strongly consider it."

"'M not. Won't. Love both of you too much." In moments Eduardo is back to sleep and Mark is left, the one conscious, to ponder the nature of Eduardo's love, and it's fucking horrible.

What he knows for sure is that where he compartmentalizes, Eduardo feels things in stereo; when he's with Mark, he's still the same amount in love with Arthur. That's why he's never going anywhere, because his brain is always playing chess, looking at the whole board.

Loyalty and strategy - competing to be Eduardo Saverin's unofficial middle name.

He goes to sleep with his head pillowed on Eduardo's chest, and he wakes up alone, a note on the pillow: _Eat anything you want, stay as long as you'd like. Can't wait to see you again, for longer next time. Greece?_

When They Pretend

Eduardo loves Mark, but there's no way in hell that he can ever live or be with him full time, not again. But. There are moments when he can pretend. They get away, a well-timed visit to Facebook's Madrid office that coincides with a tech conference where Eduardo is giving the keynote. "I don't know why you were asked," Mark says, "I'm the fucking founder," and Eduardo clucks at him. "I went looking for it," he whispers to Mark as he traps him on the bed underneath him. "An excuse for us," and then that's the last word on it because he's too busy pulling Mark's shorts down and seeing how much of his cock he can fit down his throat.

They don't sightsee that much, just watch a Real Madrid match and eat tapas, and stay in bed all the rest of the time. And Eduardo pretends like this is a vacation with his husband, and when they go home they'll pick up their dog from the neighbors, and they'll dump everything in the wash, and they'll shower together, going to bed early. Then they'll get up, disappointed to be back to the business as usual of life, but lucky to enjoy what they do, and so the Monday trudge won't be so bad. Maybe they'll start talking about adopting, or maybe Eduardo can't ever get over his father issues, but regardless they will continue to live, happily, together.

In his pretending, there are no other people to hurt, no children. They don't argue, mad as snakes, intermittently. They don't have a past they just can't seem to reconcile. No one feels betrayed and all things are equal.

It's a fantasyland, he knows this, but he clings tight to this precious idea of an unmarred version of them.

When Mark Doesn’t Make a Choice

Mark sits with Maya outside on a blanket, a partly cloudy day that’s best for his sun aversion and Cecilia’s directive that Maya not be in direct sunlight. He checks his email on his phone, but then she tugs at his shirt to whisper a secret in his ear - and why she does that is beyond him, they’re already alone, and besides what does she know that others should not? - and he’s laying on his back next to her as they look at the sky. His phone rings, and he sees that it’s Eduardo, and he presses Decline. He sits with Maya like this until she drifts off for a nap.

As soon as she’s out, he calls Eduardo back. “Hi.”

“Hi. What are you up to?”

“Maya and I are outside.”

“Oh, let me say hi.”

Mark shifts on the blanket. “She’s out. Besides - I don’t think we should do stuff like that.” Lines.

He hears Eduardo’s amplified silence, then, “Okay. Sure. Call me later?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. He goes back to his daughter and watches her sleep until she wakes with a start, smiling at her dad.

How Cecilia Finds Out

She wonders, later, if she would have found out another way, but it doesn’t matter and it’s not worth speculating on. In the end it’s something small. Mark comes home from a trip very sick - throwing up, pale, the works - and she’s put into a tizzy. After a doctor’s visit and a quick pharmacy drop-in, she’s settling him back into bed and he’s sleeping in the middle of the day, an amazing feat if she says so herself, if she had a moment to congratulate herself between taking care of him and Maya. She empties his backpack of his trip detritus and finds two curious things: one, a pocket full of condoms and lube, and two, an airplane ticket stub from JFK to SFO. 

Mark was supposed to be coming home from Ireland.

The condoms and lube are damning enough, and she doesn’t really know what to do with that, but she’s confused to see that he’d stopped in New York. But, she supposes that he’d have to stop somewhere, a direct flight is probably unlikely, and she returns to the condoms and lube. She thinks the worst until Mark wakes up and she confronts him over soup and crackers. His face grows cold and dark and he says, “They were there before we got pregnant again. It wasn’t exactly planned.”

She has this habit of overdoing it when he is unkind, so instead of taking what he said as an insult - effectively calling their soon-to-be-born child an accident - she puts a hand over his forehead to test for temperature. He’s an asshole and he’s room temperature, and she kisses his cheek as she goes.

She can’t put her finger on what’s wrong, off, but she knows something is. She calls her mother-in-law, who greets her happily though she’s “between patients, can I call you back later, love?” Yes. 

She calls Chris next and asks if he and Sean received their present for their new daughter. “Oh, it was great. I loved the bit of the functional and then that great sundress. Hey, how’s Mark? We had to quarantine him from the baby when he came to visit.”

Ah. “Fine. Or, not fine, actually, he’s still sick, but he’s not getting any worse.” Not yet anyway.

Eduardo is her next call as she waits for her mother-in-law, and she really doesn’t want to call him. Eduardo is too nice; it’s overwhelming; she can’t handle the sheer force of what he gives. But she gets it together and calls, and he picks up on the first ring. “Hi, Celia, Cecilia, hey,” he says, his voice too loud.

She winces. “Hi Eduardo. How are things?”

“Great. Great. Just busy. We’re - I’m - so busy. Work. How are you? How’s the baby? Mark?”

“Mark is a baby,” she says breezily, and he laughs too eagerly. “No, seriously, when he’s sick - well, you probably know this - when he’s sick, he’s just kind of a pain. How was he when you saw him in New York?” She drops in subtly.

“What - oh - I - I saw him for a few minutes. I - don’t know. God, Cecilia, so sorry, I need to jump on a call. Can we-”

“Sure,” she says. “Bye, Eduardo.”

“Bye.” 

She fixes lunch for her and Maya as she waits for her mother-in-law to call back, and she’s not proud of what she does next. While she eats her turkey and swiss on white bread, she logs into Mark’s Facebook account. She sees many notifications, silly things, and then a treasure trove of photos, dated from when Mark was in New York. She can’t help but proceed and she clicks through. Mark was clearly out with some old friends at a club, a club she can’t imagine herself out at with him, and he’s with Eduardo, their heads bent together like they have something no one else can have.

And that’s it. Staring at her in the fucking face.

From here she pours into his Facebook messages with Eduardo where it’s just plans and dirty words and ‘I love you’ and she absolutely leaves her daughter at the table with a “Stay right there, Mommy’s just...” and then she’s running down the hall and puking in the toilet. If anyone was around she could say it was morning sickness, or Mark helpfully sharing the flu, but no one’s around who would ask and she sits with her back against the bathroom wall, tears streaming down her face. She snooped, but he’s in the way fucking wrong. As she vomits again, she feels like she knew something was coming, a thought she has as she retches into the toilet from the feeling that her life is not at all what she thought it was.

The day is barely over when she tells Mark she has to run an errand, then drops Maya with the neighbors, and heads at full speed to Vista Del Mar. It’s only when she’s waiting for him to open the door does she take stock in her appearance: Tevas, yoga pants, Mark’s North Face fleece. She must look disheveled and overwrought, and sad and crazy, and this is confirmed when she sees everything reflected in Eduardo’s increasingly panicked face. “Hi?” He asks. Then, he looks down at her attire and back up to her face, then back one more time to her swollen, pregnant belly. He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, then says something inane. “You’re wearing one of Mark’s fleeces.”

She cocks her head to the side. “I think we both are. Can I come in?”

As she enters, she plays with the wedding ring around her neck, that’s on a chain because her fingers are too fat from being pregnant. She looks around at the decor and sees that while it is sparsely decorated it retains a certain fancy, clinical ugliness that she had to purge from her home when she moved in. She feels sick again when she remembers what she read, and when she thinks about how she failed to truly purge. Because there he is. "How long have you had this apartment?" 

He rubs the back of his neck, and if she was the person in charge of him she'd tell him to cut it out. As she's just someone who's welcomed him into her home, someone who is married to the man he's been fucking on a regular basis, she stays quiet. Pick your battles. 

"Not that long," he replies evasively. And she sighs, already tired of this. Without asking, she goes to the kitchen and helps herself to a glass of water, and he follows, apprehensive, watching her.

When she feels hydrated, she sits down at the breakfast bar, playing with her necklace idly. “Eduardo, I know. Okay? I know. So at this point, I really just need you to lay it out for me.”

“Lay what out? And how did you know where-”

"Facebook, what the fuck else," she spits out, interrupting, and she's surprised by how much vitriol is in her mouth, infusing her words with pain and the pent up anger she didn't realize she had. Getting this upset is painful. She takes a deep breath.

He slumps, standing against the counter with his hands in his pockets, and he says nothing, and she’s left to ponder the large black and white aerial photo of Singapore that hangs on the wall. She wishes he’d never come back. 

Finally he pours himself something strong and starts talking. “I bought this apartment within the last year. I was tired of staying in hotels when I came here.”

She’s surprised at his candor in general, the timeline, and what she assumes is the frequency. “Are you here that often?”

He nods, slowly, and he peeks up to look at her. “Yeah, I am.”

She exhales slowly, looking at the hardwood floor, her arms crossed. “So what exactly is going on? Just sex? Or is it worse, and he’s leaving?”

Eduardo shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, no, no. That’s not an option. I mean, yes, to the sex, but no to the leaving. I’m,” and here he puts his hand to his heart, like that should mean more, like this means shit to her, “I love my husband, god, I would never. And I’d never let Mark do - no.”

Something is just not computing. “I don’t get it,” she says quietly. “You have sex, you’re in love, but everyone wants to keep cheating.”

Eduardo looks like he’s between bawling and anger, his face in anguish. “I know it’s wrong, so wrong, and I’m so sorry. I know. But I can’t - stop us. Can’t stop me. Him. I have loved him for so long, and so - he’s so hard to love but I can’t. Help it.” He puts his chin to his chest.

“Does Arthur know?” She asks. He shakes his head, no, and it’s quiet again as they both think.

She wants to ask ‘Does Mark love me?’ but she hates the idea of asking, hates any answer he might give, hates that he’s the person to ask. But she asks anyway. 

Eduardo’s head snaps up. “Oh, god, yes, of course, of course he does. I don’t think - you know, Mark and I fell apart a long time ago, and we both - found really important people.” He takes a sip of his drink and chews on a piece of ice for a second before swallowing. “And then we fucked up.”

“So, what does that mean? This is just something to get out of your system?”

He looks remorseful when he says, “I just don’t know.”

This conversation is like pulling teeth and it’s still not over, so she raids his fridge because this is the deal with pregnant women. When she tells him that, he doesn’t look surprised, but he says, hurt, “He didn’t tell me.”

With a mouthful of vegetable lasagne, she asks, “Does that change anything?”

Eduardo comes to sit next to her. The fact that this is in any way civil, and that she’s eating his food is kind of beyond her. “He’s just. Not communicative. Never has been. It’s just - frustrating. Honestly, and here I’m talking about him and me - which I realize is really weird - but that’s why he and I would never work again. He is so much in his own head that he ends up being incredibly isolating. I can take him in small doses. And that’s it.”

She’d like to make a joke about time sharing, because amen, brother, but even as a joke she won’t pose it. Her boundaries extend as far as letting his ex in their house - something that she won’t be doing again - but they will not spread enough to share him. Not an option. 

For most of the day her brain had been doing this analytical thing: seeking answers, looking for the links, but when she’s halfway through Eduardo’s take out she realizes that she is desperately sad. Sad to be proved right on her hunch. She feels like a husk.

When she can, she stands, and says goodbye. Eduardo looks at her pleadingly and she waves him off. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry. Even though you are being just really terrible, awful people, I know what it’s like to have him-” She stops herself right there and tears up, but she gathers her druthers. “I know he’s difficult, and hard to love, but I love him, and he married me. And you have to let go.”

He nods stoically and she leaves, hoping to never see this apartment again.

How Arthur Found Out

Eduardo was supposed to be out west for longer, but he texts Arthur and it arrives mid-class. _On my way home._ He smiles, and ends his lecture on Pareto charts early, stopping to pick up food on his way home.

Eduardo doesn't get in until much later, and he feels silly for not thinking about the length of the flight; he didn't even tell Arthur what time he was leaving California. When he gets in, he comes in quietly, but Arthur stirs. "Hey baby," he says sleepily, The Daily Show on in the background.

"I have to talk to you," Eduardo says gravely. "I've been thinking about it for the past - well - ten hours, but really much longer than that. Years." He sits on the coffee table across from Arthur on the couch and looks just so destroyed and sad. "I've been having an affair - no, I have been sleeping - no. Mark and I have been having an affair since six months after you and I got married."

Arthur has never been punched in the stomach, but he imagines it would feel exactly like this, a mix of surprise and pain, and the feelings threaten to take him over, pull him under, and he hears though barely registers the questions he asks his husband.

"So that's - years then? On and off, or...?"

"We see each other every few weeks, though sometimes it's longer."

"Does Cecilia know?"

Eduardo, who already looks pained, looks even more so. "Yeah. Yes, she does. She is not - she knows now."

"Have you had sex in our home?"

Eduardo looks tired. He nods. "Yes. Not - we - Mark has a place here. We go there mostly."

"Do you want to get divorced?"

Eduardo shakes his head fiercely, then leans in and presses their foreheads together, grasping at Arthur's collar. "No, I don't."

At Eduardo's touch, the analytical parts of him cease functioning and he feels sick - in his heart, stomach, lungs, everywhere. He pushes Eduardo away. "I need to - I - I don't want to see you right now. I need to go." Eduardo's face looks dumb, so dumb, and when he starts to cry all Arthur can think is, Good.

He packs a small bag haphazardly, forgetting his toothbrush and underwear but remembering toothpaste, jeans, and not much else. He leaves without saying goodbye or acknowledging him in any way; that's how bad. 

Eduardo says, "Arthur," anguished, and he just walks out, shuts the door.

How They Take Their Time

Eduardo doesn't sleep. He keeps the TV on all night, barely watching, the exception being Storm Stories on the Weather Channel, which keeps his attention briefly. He doesn't shower or shave, and it occurs to him in passing that he hasn't changed his clothes since arriving from San Francisco, but with this gnawing in his gut, he can't think of much else - until Arthur walks in the door. His eyes are red and puffy from crying; Eduardo did this to him. Arthur sits on the coffee table now, in the same spot where Eduardo broke the bad news, but he doesn't sit as close. His back is perfectly straight.

"Do you want to leave?" Arthur asks, his voice hoarse and his face tired and sad, wracked and wrecked.

"No," Eduardo says again, his answer 100% true.

Arthur looks like he weighs this for a moment, and he studies Eduardo's face until he's done. "How does cheating on me make you feel?"

Eduardo is taken aback to be spoken to so honestly. He shakes his head, disbelieving, but he can't deny, won't deny Arthur an answer. “Bad. About myself. Guilty because I’m cheating on you, but also it inevitably brings up our past, mine and Mark's, and that’s awful."

"And?" Arthur prompts.

"And?"

"And, what else? You're a masochist but you're not that bad. You're getting some pleasure out of this. What is it?"

Eduardo's mouth feels like it dries up inside to answer this question. "I - it's good. He's - as awful as we can be to each other, he and I always got..." He can't say it.

"Say it," Arthur demands.

"We always got it right in bed," he says, finishing the thought he didn’t want to finish.

“You mean the fucking is outstanding, off the charts,” he says coldly. “Got it.” Arthur crosses his arms and looks at the carpet, the carpet that has seen more action than it’s getting today, or may ever get again. His head snaps up and he looks at Eduardo like he wants him to fail. “How do I make you feel?” 

Eduardo feels the tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Happy. Loved. Complete.” He worries now, intensely, that he never said these specific words to Arthur, who is so deserving of them, and should hear them often. They lock eyes and Eduardo is crying now, the years of incomplete truths and deceit catching up with him in this exact moment, and as in love as he is with both Arthur and Mark, he’d give up the latter if it would take away Arthur’s pain. 

But that’s not how things work. Arthur breaks their gaze and pushes off the table, striding towards the bedroom, and Eduardo follows at a safe distance. The first thing he does is grab for a large roller suitcase. Eduardo gulps. “What are you-”

“I need more time,” Arthur says, diving into his pants drawer, a few pairs, then grabbing for socks and underwear, then t-shirts and a couple of sweatshirts. Sneakers. “It’s terrible because I want you to comfort me, but you’re the one causing the pain.” When he’s done he shuts his drawers, closes his closet door, and turns to look at Eduardo. “I’m - going to the lake house. My aunt and uncle are there now, and I’m just gonna - hang. Have space. From you.” He rolls his bag over to the middle of the room, where Eduardo is standing, wooden, and puts his arms around him, then moves them around his neck. "I may not come back. I want you to think about it, and prepare." He kisses Eduardo's cheek and leaves him bereft. He sinks to the edge of the bed and sits there until he slides off, not paying any attention until he's on the floor.

Eventually he does get up. Eventually he showers and shaves and feeds himself but mostly he sits, anxiously, waiting for good news to come or for something terrible to happen. 

Mark doesn't call and he's glad.

When he's been away for three days, Arthur calls and asks Eduardo to join him in Cedarburg. He gets on the next possible flight to Milwaukee and is beyond thrilled when Arthur meets him at the airport with days of scruff on his face. He wants to kiss that face but knows he can't, not now or maybe for a long time. Or ever.

In the car Arthur says very little except, "I've been fixing the front steps" and Eduardo suppresses smartass comments, only replying, "I'll help." Arthur nods.

That's what they do for two days. Fix the step, fish, eat, Arthur bakes a pie, and they sleep - sharing a bed but not the same space. His Aunt Susan and Uncle Quentin come back for the weekend and it's nice to have actual conversation in the house. Arthur didn't want to tell them anything, so he's being a requisite amount of polite to the husband he's supposed to love, and it almost lulls Eduardo into thinking that he's forgiven until he reaches for Arthur in bed and is told, "Don't fucking think about it." He does as told.

Over breakfast, Quentin asks the question Eduardo had been wondering about, "Arthur, isn't school still in session?" 

Arthur replies, "Yeah, but we're almost at the end of the semester. A colleague is covering. I told her it was a family emergency."

Eduardo has such a deep hope in 'family' though his heart falls to hear 'emergency.' Susan and Quentin laugh over it, saying fishing isn't quite an emergency. Arthur smiles and excuses himself, and disappears until dinner.

When he shows up again, he asks Eduardo to take a walk, and Eduardo is sure that he'll be asked for a divorce; that's what this whole thing was about all along. He agrees but it feels like a death march. 

Along the shore Arthur says, "Okay. Here's what I think. We need rules. I want to know. Not the details, but if you'll be away with him, I want to know that." Eduardo is having trouble computing this. He sits on a big rock, almost a boulder, and looks at Arthur. "I'd prefer that you only saw him once or twice a month. Ideally you would only see him when I'm working or away at a conference."

Eduardo feels the smooth ridges of the rock with his fingers. "Help me, I'm not - I don't know what I'm hearing."

Arthur stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Besides you I have really only loved one other man."

"Josh."

Arthur nods. "It was messy. I know you know that. We were both very bad to each other. And ultimately that horrible break up led me to you so I won't ever regret it or the relationship, but I learned an important lesson: you have to be - realistic. I know now that you have to - I love you. I know you love me. I know I don't want to lose you. So if you... need Mark too, then, okay."

Eduardo shakes his head vehemently. "No, Arthur, baby, no, I don't-"

"We already did this. Years ago. You slept with him but you didn't quite get him out of your system. Maybe - maybe you can't. Maybe he's just in there, and it would be foolish to - I don't want to deny you what you need. Who you need."

Eduardo stands and puts his arms around Arthur, and he holds him tight, and then they're embracing so long that they're swaying just a little.

"I love you, and what you said, and I don't know what to say, to someone who would forgive me and-"

"Oh, sweetheart, don't be mistaken, I haven't forgiven you yet," Arthur interrupts tightly. "I hope to. Not today, though."

They break apart and Eduardo is sad all over again. Roller coaster. "It's kind of a moot point anyway," he says sullenly. "Cecilia would never allow - anyway." He looks at Arthur, his beautiful husband, his partner, who deserves exactly none of this. They walk back to the house and there's still tension between them, but now Eduardo has hope. For this, anyway.

When Mark Finds Out What Cecilia Did

Mark is fuzzy-headed on flu medication, but not so much that he can’t pick up his phone and understand that Eduardo is crying and hiccuping. “Cecilia knows,” he says mid-gasp. “I feel so awful, Mark, so fucking bad. I have to go home, okay, I have to go, I know we were going to see each other but I have to get home to Arthur. Don’t - call, okay, just don’t.” And then he’s gone.

It’s about all Mark can do to get down the stairs and wait for Cecilia. When she arrives, finally, she looks destroyed. Frail. Weary. He did it, but it doesn’t wear on his unflagging anger. 

“Why would you do that? This has nothing to do with you.”

She sets her tote bag down and sits on the couch, as far away from Mark as possible. “Is Maya okay?” She asks.

Mark nods. “I picked her up from next door. Now she’s napping. Don’t change the subject.”

She purses her lips like she’s going to say something, but then her face looks different when she says, “I didn’t deserve to know. We’re going to skip to indignation?” Then, very clearly, she says, “Fuck you, Mark. This has everything to do with me. Everything, because my hus- my family. We have a child. We have Maya and another - I'm not - I can't just understand, look the other way. That's not who I am. That's not what I signed up for.”

He ignores her and says, “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” she says, scoffing. “You're insane if you think otherwise.”

“I think that I can be your husband and I can be a father and I can do whatever I fucking want, Celia.” It’s now that he’s feeling his sickness, and he traipses to the kitchen for water.

She follows close behind, and once he’s sipped she asks, “Do you love me? Think about this carefully, I don't want spin or anything, I just want you to be honest. Because. I know. I know I can't compete with him.”

He loves her. He loved her almost right away. 

He loves him. Almost right away.

But these are different things, it’s apples and oranges, they are simply in different universes. But that’s not what she’s asking. “I love you,” Mark says. “I don't have to think about it, okay. I know. But-”

“I can't have an arrangement. I don't work that way.” Her arms are folded and she’s settled against the cabinets. 

He shakes his head. “I’m not asking for that.”

The baby monitor sparks with sound and both their heads whip towards it. But Maya settles back in with some more noise, and when she’s done they’re left with each other again. 

“Then just what are you looking for?” She asks, her voice heavily edged in annoyance.

Mark doesn’t know what he wants, he just knows that he wants everything he has. Instead of saying this, he opts for explanation. “He - created a space... in my heart. He created a space in me I didn't know I could have.”

“What, and only he fills it?”

“No, I'm saying, you and Maya do. And, him too. But he started it.” He crumbles until he’s on the kitchen floor, sitting, and she tracks his slide with her eyes. She joins him on the floor, across the room. 

Cecilia turns her palms over, in a sign of surrender. “Okay. I get it. We barely measure up.” Mark shakes his head, but she puts one hand up to stop him. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t just stick around and watch you fuck him.” She shakes her head sadly. “I’d leave. I’ll leave, Mark. I’d have to.” She lolls her head back against the cabinets and closes her eyes, and he really looks at her, maybe for the first time in a long time.

He doesn’t come from a broken home and he doesn’t give a shit about his public image, but he doesn’t want her to go. No, in fact, he can’t; just the thought makes his eyes sting with tears. Maya starts up again and he strides for the stairs, reaching her room quickly. He pulls his on-the-verge-of-fussing daughter into his arms and knows, for sure, that he will not jeopardize this. He may have insinuated to Eduardo before that he could consider leaving, but he knows now that he would not, could not dare. 

Cecilia eventually follows him into Maya’s room, and she watches them intently. “I’ll stop,” he mouths, and when she can’t hear him he repeats it softly. She nods and slinks away.

He reads Maya a book and puts her to sleep.

We can all be better. Or at least, we can try to be.

/end.


End file.
